


The Way of Sorrow

by AvaWhiteRaven



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:53:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 69,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaWhiteRaven/pseuds/AvaWhiteRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zahirana, a Dalish Elf, first of her clan, has failed her people in the biggest way possible. She seeks to redeem herself but as events pass and circumstances change, she's not entirely sure who she is or if the title Dalish really holds its superior meaning anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These are events that take place after The Well of Sorrows and the events at the end of Inquisition. There will be spoilers.
> 
> Chapter Warnings in case anyone wants to avoid (or skip to?)  
> Chapters 13 and 21 contains sexual content  
> Chapters beyond this may hint at sexual content  
> Chapter 18 has very mild suggestive rape/non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthara ma: May you learn  
> Ar tu na'din: I will kill you  
> Emma shem'nan: My revenge is swift  
> Aneth ara: Greeting between Dalish

She raced, her feet drumming against the skin of the earth. She knew these woods, lived among these trees since childhood, and it would be more than easy to escape. But she needed to be slow enough to keep their attention. Fast enough to keep distance between them. Slow enough to edge on the chase. Fast enough to survive.

There were at least ten of them behind her. She also knew with trained acuity that they were fanning out to cover a wider distance. They were loud. Not at all hunters. No, they were bandits and murderers. If they caught her, they would have no remorse for a knife-ear, for a Dalish, an elf savage.

Dread Wolf be damned, she made a mistake. She had forgotten about the sinkhole the clan had passed earlier, a recent change in the landscape of the wilds. It was too late. She skidded to a stop, rolled, hoping her momentum could lessen the fall. She fell into the darkness, hitting hard against rocks, dirt, and the edge of a sarcophagus. Bone snapped, her right leg, likely shattering it.

She heard them above, closing in now. If she could hide in the darkness, they might leave her be. Being poor hunters, they would keep searching.

She scooted back, her broken leg limp and agonized. It wasn’t the worse wound she’d ever had. Brawling with the other hunters was a fun past time. “Dirthara ma,” she could almost hear her Keeper’s exasperated curse. She was supposed to be a mage, not a hunter. A keeper or lore.

But she failed. All of it was lost now.

A swelling of sorrow gripped her chest. This wasn’t the time for crying. She would cry after, when the bandits were long gone, and the clan was safe. For now, she would be strong--strong for her people.

“Down there,” he spat, one of the bandits, likely their leader.

She breathed deep. All of her strength, all of her magic, had been used to fight the demons earlier that day. There was so little left now. There were too many of them to fight on her own.

They were sliding down the side of the sinkhole, far more elegantly than she had managed. Some were cursing, uneager to enter an old Elvhen ruin. She smiled, letting the smirk, consume her expression. A cocky smile was better than fear. There was no room for fear, now. Her clan, those who were still alive, could manage without her. She was considering it now. It was an option. The Keeper was already gone. She was all that was left. It wasn’t like she knew much anyway. She was foolish. She never paid attention. Little knowledge would die with her.

“Toss me the torch!” The dim light flickered down into the tomb. He sneered as his eyes caught sight of her. “Found her.” His eyes were like those of a wolf gazing down his cornered prey. He had enjoyed the hunt, the chase, probably more than he would enjoy killing her.

“Andraste’s tits,” cursed another, glancing about the tomb with hesitancy. “Grab her and let’s go. This place…” He shook his head, hardly able to find the right word.

“She ain’t going anywhere.” He walked over, gathering the scarf around her neck with one hand. “Our little friend here’s wounded.”

“Ar tu na’din.” Her smile unwavering.

His face distorted, almost as if she had physically hit him. He threw her hard against the temple wall, her shoulder pieced by protruding metal. Her scream shattered the stillness of the tomb, a holy place to her people. It wasn’t quite so sacred anymore.

“You’re wasting time,” someone grumbled, likely the coward from earlier.

He dragged her, half choking her to the surface, and laid her out before the bandit leader. She shuddered at the heat of the sun, the intense pain that racked her body, but she refused to let it overwhelm her. She had just enough magic to take out their leader, just enough in her that would get her the revenge she seeked.

“A pretty little flower out here all by her lonesome.” He brushed the dark black strands of hair out of her face.

She smacked his hand away, her hatred roiling magic across her skin.

“Spirited thing, I’ll give you that.” He sneered now, a glint of something flashing across his eyes. The men around her laughed, maniacally and eager. “Certainly can’t let a girl like you out in the world on her own.”

She gathered it now, the power behind her fingertips. She let the lifeblood of the wilds ride across her. He leaned in, ready to straddle her, when a growl broke past her clenched teeth. She released every bit of lingering magic she had combined with what the woods offered.

He gasped, sucking down a quick breath of air. The laugh of the other men curdled.

“Emma shem’nan,” she whispered, watching as he pulled away.

He grasped at his chest, clenching the pain and seeping his fingers in blood.

The sweet sounds of whistling arrows tugged a smile from her. Perhaps her clan had found her, fools that they were. She told them to stay hidden. Too many were children and so few had good aim. She distracted the bandits to keep them safe. Why would they come now, endangering the little ones?

They were elves, she could see them as they sauntered out into the open. Not like any she had ever seen, however. They were too well armored and pale as moonlight. They moved like an army of shemlen, scouring the area.

“Aneth ara,” she greeted weakly.

He tilted his head, examining her with mild interest. He wore the vallaslin of Mythal, a hood covering most of it in shadow. But his eyes, burned orange like a dim firelight and they unnerved her. These were not like any Elvhen she had ever seen.

“Abelas.” Another approached, eyeing her then their leader. “Shall we keep moving?”

She shuddered, digging her fingers into the hard earth. “Leave me. But my clan. There are so few of them…” Her vision was growing dark, there was so little time to disclose their location. “Backtrack…” She rolled her gaze the path the bandits had burrowed through the underbrush. “Please.”

“I can heal her.” She pushed back her hood and kneeled down to the fading girl.

Abelas lifted a hand to his chin, letting it curl beneath. “It would waste our time.”

She peered up, determination in her eyes. “Are we going somewhere in a hurry?”

He was silent, just as determined. But with a shake of his head, he walked away. “Do as you wish.”

Her gaze softened. “I am Atisha. I am going to heal you the best that I can.”

“Zahirana.” Her eyes were so heavy, the pain in her leg and shoulder dulling. “My clan.” They needed to be safe. She had to know that they made it out okay.

“Rest,” she muttered, passing her fingers across her eyes. “Just rest.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma serannas: My thanks  
> Shemlen: quick children  
> Da'len: little child

Zahirana cringed. A dim light awoke her, and she swore she could hear the distant sounds of the aravels. It was a comforting creak of wood, grinding beams and metal, and the rapping of cloth sails trapped in the grasp of the wind. She could almost hear Sarlen laughing, shouting that he would hunt without her. The exasperated sigh of Keeper Athenaya muttering that they had studies to continue.

And then she remembered it all. The scorching fires that swallowed their homes. The screams of the halla, high pitched and terrified. The Keeper, throwing herself at the demons, telling her to take the clan. But she couldn’t. She wasn’t ready. There was still too much for her to learn.

Sarlen grabbed her shoulders, furious and stern, and shoved her away. “Get our people to safety.” The black clouds of smoke choked her, made it hard to see his expression, but she was certain he was crying.

She fought her way through the army of demons, passing the eerie green rip in the Beyond, and led what was left of the clan north to their typical rendezvous point.

They waited. They hoped. Bandits grew closer to camp. She made a harsh decision to distract them, lead them away, at least long enough for the elderly to herd the children to safety. So many of the clan had died and they wouldn’t have stood a chance against bandits.

Vir Adahlen. Together we are stronger than one. She hoped they would be stronger without her, stronger if she could string the danger away, desperate to make up for what had happened.

Zahirana sat up suddenly, remembering also, the strange elves. It was night time, stars dusted across the heavens through the arms of the trees. There were dim lights of fires scattered through the darkness and her night-adapted eyes helped make out the different shapes of people.

Their healer had dressed her wounds. Her left arm would never be as strong. She would most likely never be able to pull back the string of another bow. It throbbed with pain, the herbs likely masking its true agony.

“You should take it easy, lethellan.” She approached, her steps soft and methodical like a young fawn through a meadow.

Zahirana hesitated, trying to remember her. “Atisha?”

She gave a soft nod, the curls of her hair rolling out passed her hood. She too wore the vallaslin of Mythal although it was pale against her dark complexion. “It will take more healing for you to return to full health.”

Slowly, she swung the dead weight of her right leg until she was able to push herself off of the ground. Her fractured calf was bound between two sturdy sticks, painlessly holstered. “Ma serannas. I need to get back to my clan.”

Abelas, or rather that was what someone called him, walked a distance behind Atisha. “You can barely walk,” he retorted, firmly almost bitterly. He was pale, even more so at night. Most of his features were shadowed by the hood.

“I just need a walking stick. I really need to get back to them.”

He shook his head, disappointed in her childishness. “You are no use to your clan in that state.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the armor skintight across his sleek form.

Zahirana laughed, more nervous than humorous. “I will just slow you down. I am a burden as it is. Unless I owe you supplies, I will be on my way.”

He brought a curled hand to his chin. “Your debt to us is great. We spent cherished supplies healing you.” His golden eyes were unwavered, demanding nothing, but stating the facts. “You took away time devoted to our journey and energy from our healer. There are others who need her.”

Zahirana bowed her head, balancing her weight on her good leg. “I will find my clan and return with more supplies than I took.”

His lips quivered, almost a failed attempt at a smile. “You will hobble your way to your clan, is that is? At what point did the Elvhen become this pridefully ignorant?”

She clenched her right fist, her left too weak to follow suit. “My people need me right now. If I have to hobble to get there, then I will.”

“Zahirana.” Atisha’s motherly voice soothed her anger. “Take this oak staff. I plead with you, however, to stay until morning. I can heal you before you leave.”

She closed her eyes, feeling them sting as she did so. She nodded, slowly and worried. Would her clan think she was dead? Would they head north without her? The night air suddenly felt cold, shivering her down to her bones. It was summer, unseasonably cool, but it had never felt quite as cold as it did tonight.

“She needs food,” Atisha stated firmly. “You need to eat as well.”

Abelas stared at the healer, his face seeming almost unchanged. He turned his gaze to Zahirana, her pulse skidding. “Come with me, shemlen.”

Shemlen, she wanted to mutter. An insult reserved for humans… And he dare call her shemlen. How had she offended him so greatly in such a brief amount of time?

She used the cane, shifting as much weight as she could off of her right leg. But by the Dread Wolf, it was nearly impossible. Her toes strained with each step, easing her further into the encampment.

They were at the base of an Elven ruin. It was one the clan passed through, honoring it as best as possible. They knew so little to honor and Zahirana knew even less. She cursed herself for not listening to Hahren’s tales, his stories and legends. She was too busy causing trouble with her partner in crime, Sarlen.

Abelas kneeled down before the fading fire, throwing another log to satiate its hunger.

“I’m not a shemlen,” she finally stated, confident enough to do so.

“You may have our features but you are not Elvhen.” The fire gleamed against the parlor of his skin, his eyes a deeper amber than before.

Zahirana grumbled, shaking her head. He hardly made any sense. She wasn’t going to argue with her host. She was too weak for that nonsense and he was honestly quite frightening. She used the staff to kneel next to him by the fire but her leg gave out sooner than she expected. She stumbled, ready to hit the ground and possibly the flame. But Abelas was quick and his grasp firm. He grabbed hold of her arm and she grabbed his shoulder in reflex.

“Ma serannas,” she muttered, unable to look away from his spectral copper eyes. She expected him to look away first but his gaze remained all the more steady. Did he expect her to apologise? His expression was too difficult to read.

"Abelas," someone called out from behind them.

Zahirana jerked away, eager to turn her attention to something else, anything else. Like breathing. She focused on breathing because for the longest time she forgot how.

"The food." He held out a small wooden bowl and Abelas took it wordlessly. "And for the, shem." He leaned over the small blaze of the fire towards Zahirana but Abelas grabbed that bowl as well. They exchanged bitter glares, a silent argument she wanted nothing to do with. She assumed Abelas was keeping the second bowl for himself. That she hadn’t earned their food.

Finally, he turned to her, offered it to her. "Zahirana."

She took the bowl and didn't look up from the soup, she didn't dare look at Abelas's expression or the other elf's.

“Abelas,” he scolded. “We need to talk.”

“Speak then.”

It soothed her worries that perhaps Abelas didn’t completely despise her. He seemed to speak to everyone in that tone. He even seemed more upset than before. She focused on eating, trying to pretend that she couldn’t hear their conversation.

“Perhaps, alone?”

“I have already discussed this with everyone. Shall I repeat myself?”

“You do not honestly believe she can travel with us.”

Her brows jolted. Zahirana rolled her gaze off towards a group of elves, gathered around a fire, cheering songs in camaraderie. She tried to focus on them instead of the conversation Abelas was having. It was obviously about her.

“I honestly can not decide if any of us deserve to travel anywhere.” He spoke with restrained hatred, likely practiced. “Do you still think yourself worthy of your vallaslin or your title?”

There was silence. Zahirana couldn’t stop herself from looking at them. Abelas, stone faced as always, but the other elf… his face was distorted, agonizing over those words. He took a few steps back, staggering almost, then turned and walked away.

It was silent now, just the two of them. He stared into the fire, the weariness of his gaze matching in harmony with his small lips, edges pulled down in a permanent frown. His face seemed almost carved that way, discord and foreboding. He wasn't eating. The bowl of soup was simply a hinderance in his grasp.

It was in that silence that everything began to surface. It was too quiet and her thoughts were too loud. The swelling in her chest, the tightness of her throat. It was painful to swallow pieces of vegetables from the soup. She cried, silently as she could manage, tears the size of heavy raindrops in the Arbor Wilds during its rainy season. She hoped her hair would hide her face, long enough until she could gather her emotions.

He set down his bowl, close enough to silently offer it to her. "Eat, gather your strength. Your tears are wasted. Your clan will be waiting for you."

She hadn't hid her face well enough it would seem. She took down a slow, deep breath. "I'm not crying for the ones who were saved. I'm crying for the ones we lost."

He cocked his head, keeping his attention on the fire pit. "We will head north. If we find your clan, then so be it. If they are not there, then you will be left behind." He stood up, each movement with fluid grace.

"What happened?” She looked up at him now, confident enough to do so. “To your clan? You don’t have any aravels. Everyone looks… defeated.”

"That is not your concern, shemlen."

Zahirana bit down on her lips, determined to keep the peace. She was leaving in the morning. She didn’t care if they were heading north as well. She had enough of the strange, ominous clan. They had obviously never associated with other Dalish. She couldn’t recall seeing them at the Arlathvhen. Then again, Zahirana never paid much attention to those meetings.

Creators forgive her.

“Zahirana?” He approached, his hood drawn but the fire illuminated much of his face. He was dusted with freckles, and his eyes a verdant green. “I am called Suledin. Atisha asked me to show you to your tent.”

Abelas narrowed his eyes, glaring at the boy next to him. “Tell Atisha that our guest has been spoiled enough.”

“Atisha is determined that our guest heal.” He bowed his head, the fire flickering off of his nocturnal eyes. “I shall speak with her after I have guided Zahirana to her tent.”

Abelas stepped closer to him, turning his full body to the young elf. “I will take her. You tell Atisha that she is done spoiling the shemlen. There are greater concerns that need her attention.”

Suledin backed away a few steps, expression unconcerned, turned on his heel and headed back towards where he had come.

“Da’len,” he called after her.

Da'len, she cursed. It was better than shemlen, at the very least.

Zahirana awkwardly got to her feet, the cane doing very little to stabilize her. “I don’t really need a tent,” she finally said as she followed Abelas, the silence making her uneasy. She had slept many nights under the stars with and without her clan by her side.

He held open the flap on one of the small tents, thrown together with furs and cloth. “Atisha will wake you in the morning.”

“Are you their Keeper?”

His eyes narrowed, peering down at her. “Rest. We leave with the sunrise.” He walked away, entering deeper into the encampment.

Zahirana crawled into the tent feeling the softness of the furs but the hardness of the earth beneath them. She missed her aravel and all of the skins she had collected. Her bed had been a soft comfort, smelling of sweet sandalwood oils, and smoky cedar sap.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dirthara ma, da'len : May you learn, child

Zahirana hadn’t slept, not really. She couldn’t. Every time her eyes closed she saw their faces, their smiles, their tears. Keeper Athenaya had raised her from childhood, had been her mother and mentor. She could still see the fires engulfing their camp and the dismantled forms of spirits twisted by the mortal world.

She turned over, noticing the small slither of sunlight spilling into the tent. It was morning already. She was glad to finally be on her way. But a part of her wasn’t ready to face what was left of her family. She wasn’t eager to see the disappointment in their eyes. Or the fear of having lost their Keeper.

She opened the flap, half expecting to see the healer making her way over. She saw instead Abelas, tall and slender, looking off into the camp. He stood with his arms folded over his chest, the soft light of morning reflecting off of his bronze armor. He slowly dropped his arms at his side, and then fell down on one knee, bowing.

“Abelas.” The elf approached, draped in tattered clothes and old furs. A rucksack was tied down on his back and pressed between was a mage’s staff.

“Fen’Harel,” he greeted in reply.

Fen’Harel, she repeated in her mind over and over. The Dread Wolf. Surely someone didn’t name their child after him. He was a traitor, a trickster to the people. No. No Dalish elf would ever choose that name. Then… Perhaps...

“I am pleased that I was able to find you in such a dense woodland.” He didn't look like a Dread Wolf. He did, however, have the jaw bone of a wolf hanging around his neck.

“We have no where to go,” Abelas stated, slowly getting to his feet. “You spoke of other places. Places for us.”

Zahirana shook her head, pulling away from the tent’s opening. If he was indeed Fen’Harel, she wasn’t sticking around to find out. Was that why these elves were so strange, so well armored, and so militaristically trained?

She crawled to the back of her tent, grasping weakly at the stake holding the cloth into the ground. Her left arm, once her strongest arm, was still too weak from the wound. It took all of her strength to pull it from the hard packed earth. She slipped underneath the tent’s wall, leaving behind the cane. Cane or no, she would be slow. But without the cane, she could be quiet.

Most of the camp still slept and those who were awake were distant, loudly packing up camp and supplies. She slowly limped, using the trees for support, and always she remained on the balls of her feet. This wasn’t her first time sneaking away from a camp. Except this time, Sarlen wasn’t there to join her, telling her to quit giggling. And this time, the bone in her leg was a hollow remnant of what it once was.

Once she was out of earshot, she gathered speed. Thorns and branches scraped across her skin in her clumsy ballet. Luckily, the chainmail under her light armor caught most of the damage.

Her right leg prevented her from jumping over fallen logs. And ducking beneath the larger branches was nearly impossible. It was hard to breathe steady with all of the work she was putting into each sluggish movement. It was early morning but the forest was already warm and humid, draining the little energy she gained from her restless sleep.

Eventually, she found the clearing where the bandits had caught her. She took her time passing through, examining the dead, and all of the dark brown blood that had seeped out across the grass. She tried not to think about the look on their leaders face when she speared all of her magic into his chest.

She didn't regret her actions. She regretted getting caught.

The woods grew quiet, a soft rustling of leaves from the direction behind her. She sucked down a breath of air, biting her lips into place, and hurried to hide behind a wide tree. Her escape from camp had been a slow one and the others likely saw her absence. Atisha would have sent someone after her, worried as any healer would be.

She closed her eyes, pressed her fingers hard into the rough skin of the tree behind her, and released the breath as slowly and quietly as she could. The rustling grew quiet. When her eyes opened, they were standing before her. Abelas was unchanged, expression completely unreadable. Fen'Harel looked nearly pleased, sneering as if holding back a laugh.

"I was, uh..." Her eyes rolled about, searching for excuses, swallowing her jolted pulse.

Fen'Harel finally chuckled softly. "You were going somewhere?"

"I'm going back to my clan." Zahirana shifted her weight, shuffling away from them as gracefully as she could manage, but the pain in her leg stopped her quick.

Abelas shook his head in disbelief. "I explained plainly that I would take you to them."

She nodded, pretending the Dread Wolf wasn't standing next to her. "I can handle it from here. They were close by."

"You are wounded." Fen'Harel reached out to touch her shoulder and of course she stumbled away from his grasp. Both Abelas and the Dread Wolf reached out to stop her fall.

Abelas, thankfully, was closer. She gripped his supportive arm, leaning weight off of her right leg with relief. Her bone felt so brittle, so desperate to snap under the pressure.

Fen'Harel smiled. "I do believe your friend is rather frightened of me."

"Frightened? No, never." She looked sheepishly up at Abelas then bobbed her attention between them. "I'm not frightened. I'm calm. I can't stand on two legs and I have no feeling in my left arm but I'm calm. I'm..." Terrified, she thought. "Calm," she whispered the word, making herself believe it.

"You do not look calm," Abelas retorted.

The more nervous she became the more expressive her face. She couldn't stop it from showing off various emotions. She'd always been a terrible liar. It was no wonder Sarlen and her got into trouble so often. "I'm just out of breath. I ran here."

Fen'Harel lifted his shoulders. "Why did you run?"

"I didn't run. I fast-walked with one leg. You can't trick me." Her brows rose higher with each word, her heart shuddered in her chest. Trick, she thought. Why did you blurt that out? Of all the stupid words that could have come out...

He sighed rather heavily. "It would seem she knows what I am just as suspected."

Abelas hooked her right arm around his neck. "The Elvhen have become stubborn fools. Let us find this clan and be done with it." He gripped her waist hard, pulling her deeper into the emerald woods.

"Honestly," she muttered. "I can get there just fine."

Abelas didn't reply. She wasn't sure if he was seething or just apathetic.

Finally, they passed the natural landmarks and entered the clearing where she had last seen what was left of her family. The clearing was empty. The grass was still flattened but only in such a way that told her they had left some time ago. Perhaps, seconds after she had run off to distract the bandits.

Her whole body felt suddenly tired. She wanted to lie down right there in the grass and sleep. If she never woke up that would have been acceptable. But Abelas' grasp didn't waver, even as her knees began to buckle. He peered down at her, eyes softer than usual. Perhaps he pitied her in some way.

The Dread Wolf walked further ahead, glancing about the treetops as if he were admiring the scenery. "You can seek out your clan when you are in a far better state."

"Atisha is waiting." Abelas dragged her along, back down the path they had taken.

Their journey back to camp was quiet. Zahirana focused on her movements, running her bottom lip against her teeth, trying to think of anything but her clan. It was silly to worry about them. She had more important worries. The Dread Wolf walked beside her.

Hadn't the Keeper known some spell to keep the Dread Wolf at bay?

Creators damn her for not paying attention.

Atisha hurried towards them once they reached what was left of the camp. The tents were all but gone and the fire pits were buried. Her lips were screwed into a hard frown. She lectured her like a mother would her child, like Keeper Athenaya, "You told me I could heal you in the morning."

Zahirana opened her mouth to speak but she had no excuse. At least, not one she was proud to speak aloud. Atisha deserved better, she thought. The healer had been more than kind to her.

"I am afraid," Fen'Harel intervened, "she left on my account."

"Set her down. I have much work to do." She shook her head ever so lightly.

Abelas unhooked her arm around his neck, but he grasped her waist from behind and eased her to the ground. His touch was gentle now, and he remained sitting behind her, his thighs on either side, armor soothingly cold around her. Her body sighed against him, pleased to have some relief.

"Your leg is even worse." Atisha shook her head, massaging the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Dirthara ma, da'len."

Zahirana chuckled. She chuckled madly. The chuckle turned into deep laughter mixed with sobbing. Uncontrollable sobs and laughs and tears. She couldn't hold it inside anymore and she wasn't sure if she cared. She cried, letting it rip through her, placing a hand over her pained smile. Atisha's expression, sorrowful as it was, made her chuckle all the more. Those words, if only she knew what those words had meant to her.

Atisha healed what she could. Fen'Harel healed the rest. Her bone was solid now, stable as magic could make it. She walked on it gently, an excuse to get up and do something, to do anything. Atisha left moments afterwards, to tend to the other wounded. Zahirana still didn’t know why the clan had wounded at all. Had they too been attacked by demons?

They spoke amongst each other, a conversation she could barely keep up with or understand. They spoke like old friends and Zahirana did not doubt it for a moment. Whatsmore, the Dread Wolf did not look or act as she expected him to. He was intelligent, calm, well spoken, knowledgable. She imagined him to be a raving lunatic and he wasn't even close. Then again, he was the trickster, wasn't he?

"Far west of Orlais," the Dread Wolf told them.

"We will need mounts if we are to go that far."

"A great many of them I presume." Fen'Harel hesitated, then said quite plainly, "Head north through the mountains to Skyhold, Tarasyl’an Te’las. The Inquisitor may spare some for your travels." The elf slowly stood. "I will meet you west. We might meet before then. It depends on circumstances."

"Until then." Abelas stood as well but they spoke nothing further.

Fen'Harel went on his way, a calm and confident walk through camp, hands tucked behind him neatly. He received no odd glares or hate-filled glowers. He was a natural part of their clan, overlooked and ignored, a passing wind.

Abelas gripped her arm, forcing her to face him. Much of his face was obscured beneath the shadow of his hood, but she could see he was quite annoyed. His mouth, already small, was pressed hard into a scowl.

“Yes, I ran, alright.”

He sighed, letting her arm go in a flourish. “Explain to me your actions while Atisha healed you. Why were your crying?"

She was stunned. She half expected him to even care. Perhaps it was just plain curiosity, a mage studying an unknown rune. Zahirana rolled her eyes up towards the green canopy. “Dirthara ma, da’len.” Saying the words now didn’t sting as bad as she thought it would. “It was the last thing my Keeper said to me. It was my fault, what happened.” Her voice dropped down to a whisper, the words becoming sandpaper. “We were supposed to scout the area to make sure the clan was safe. But I convinced Sarlen to go exploring with me. I thought… I thought we were safe. We were so far from any shem village that...”

Abelas lifted a hand, sliding the back of his fingers down her arm. He hesitated, walked away, then hesitated again. “You are not the only one who has tasted sorrow.” He looked back at her briefly then ahead. “We are leaving soon. Be ready.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma shem'nan: My revenge is swift  
> Ir abelas: I am sorry

They travelled north, well into the evening, the shade of the trees keeping off most of the heat of day. They set up camp again but with greater efficiency than her own clan had ever managed. Atisha was busy helping the wounded, doing a last bit of healing for most of them.

These woods were familiar and she was certain they were near the rendezvous point, an old tower still standing amid the wilds. Her leg was sore but fully healed. She wouldn’t be able to use a bow but she had her magic, what little she knew how to use, and that would be enough to survive on.

Abelas was busy with the bustle of camp, dealing with matters among the other elves, and Zahirana was busy watching him. She couldn't decide if she would tell him about her plan to leave. She didn't exactly have to but the last time she made a run for it, things didn't quite go over well with him.

"He is an attractive sight."

"Yes, well," Zahirana muttered. Her eyes widened, jolting to Atisha's smug expression. She briskly shook her head. "Where did you even come from? No, I meant to say no."

"Oh, I know what you meant to say."

She sighed heavily, rubbing hands down her face. "He sees me as a nuisance nothing more. That much I have accepted."

Her laugh was soft, gentle as bells ringing in the wind. "Is that what you think. You obviously haven't been paying attention." Atisha began to sashay back towards the medical tent.

"Atisha." She followed after the smirking elf. "I'm going to head out. See if I can spot my clan nearby."

Her steps slowed. She turned around, nodding her head. "So long as you come back. Find them. Bring them here. We can help." She was hesitant to turn away, uneager to let her patient venture off on her own, but she silently watched her leave.

Zahirana had done it often enough. She knew the woods. They were her home. They were a part of her. Her clan rarely trekked out into the open for very long. They went from one forest to the next, moving like ghosts amongst the trees and hills. It was good to have her leg mended, feeling her muscles tense with each jump, with each climb over rocks and logs.

She heard the soft rustle of the wilds, but this wasn't brought about by the wind, something was behind her. It was larger than most animals, larger than a ram yet smaller than a bear. She turned around, surveying the area as Abelas walked into view, steps more graceful now than in camp. He walked like a stag, each step precise and silent, passing through the underbrush and foliage unhindered.

She stood tall, lifting her chin. She wasn't going to be dragged back so easily, not again. "Abelas?"

"You left the camp."

"I told Atisha where I was going."

His expression was the same as always, apathetic if not irritated. "You told Atisha. You did not tell me."

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She wasn't sure what to make of him. "The meeting point for my clan is near by. I wanted to see if they were there." Perhaps, Atisha had been right. Had she missed his intentions this whole time? "What are you even doing out here?"

"Scouting." He walked passed her, further ahead, almost pretending to ignore her.

She rubbed her fingertips against her forehead. "That's what scouts are for."

"Everyone is a scout for the clan."

She followed after him, easily keeping with his slow stroll. "Strange because since I've been with your clan, the same people have scouted. You weren't one of them..."

"Shall we find your clan or debate about mine?"

She failed to suppress her smile, glancing away into the beams of sunlight that seeped passed the thick canopy above. He was proud and likely would have been annoyed if he saw her laughing because of him.

Her steps slowed, a tingle along her spine warned her. Something wasn't right. "You smell that? Like something's burning. Maybe a campfire?" She glanced through the hips of trees, eagerly seeking. "White smoke. That means whatever it was stopped burning. They might have left recently." She couldn't wait anymore. She had to see them.

"Careful. Zahirana, wait!"

She took off, her feet having a mind of their own. She had to see them. Maybe they didn't get far. Maybe they were still in the area. She had to know. She found the decrepit stone tower, jumping through the edge of the woodline, meeting with the grass clearing around its base.

She wasn't quite sure what she was looking at. A campfire? No, it was too large. Black soot, ashes piled atop charred items, and... And bones. She gasped, deeper, sucking down air, unable to breathe out long enough to steady herself. She couldn't stop breathing in, choking for oxygen, sobbing. She clenched her chest tight, wrapping arms around herself, walking closer then dropping to her knees.

Bones, the bones and ashes of her people, of her family, piled together like rubbish.

She saw the smooth cloth doll, freckled in dark brown, dusted with black, burned on its edges. She lifted the limp toy, running her thumb along its face like a mother to her child. Anise, sweet and beaming child, eager to learn. This was hers...

Abelas kneeled beside her, a hand firm yet gentle on her shoulder.

"I did this to them." She didn't cry. She wasn't sure she had anymore tears left. But her face remained a crumpled mess, a hard pressed frown, concaved brows. "I let this happen because I was stupid. I was stupid and failed at my duty. I chose to run off. I convinced Sarlen to run off and hunt with me. I did this. The whole clan. The whole clan is dead. I did this to them."

He gripped her shoulder tighter now. "You are not to blame. Blame those who actually killed them."

She looked at him. Her sorrow twisted into anger. She gripped the doll hard, her nails sinking into the soft plush. She stood up, the doll falling from her grasp, her muscles tightening. He was right. She did blame them, whoever they were, she blamed them and she'd find them. She would hunt them down like the mindless beasts that they were.

"Gather your senses..." Abelas stood up, his voice sounding rough.

Her feet walked on, collecting magic from around her, all that nature could offer. All that she could pull from every inch of the earth and trees. She let it writhe within her flesh, burrow itself into her bones, her hatred twisting it into something altogether unnatural and dark.

"Do not do this. Your magic could consume you." His steps picked up behind her, right on her heels.

"Let it. It can have me." She didn't falter, didn't waver. "Emma shem'nan." It took over, a ravenous beast, a black furred wolf, shredding itself over her, growling, snarling, and gnashing its teeth. She became filled with an animalistic hunger satiated only by revenge. She picked up their scent, honing in on her prey. Their scent mingled with the blood of her people. The very people they killed, desecrated by burning their corpses.

A howl ruptured through her as she took off into the wilds, paws pounding out the rhythm of a battle song. She could hear Abelas, running behind her, keeping up with ease but not quite catching her.

She found them, their pathetic attempt at a stronghold. They had taken the trees of the wilds and used them to make walls. The gate was opened, manned by two archers who looked weak beneath their leathers. She didn't slow down. She didn't halt and think about what she would do. She simply lunged, her teeth finding the soft flesh of his throat and biting down until bones crunched. She didn't bother with the other guard. She leapt inside, sliding across the dusty earth where they had uprooted the soft grasses, leaving behind a barren waste.

She fought each one who charged at her, fangs and claws against soft skin.

Abelas guarded her back, taking out any archers who took to the roofs. His magic was old, ancient, harmonized with nature. It was as much a part of him as breathing. He commanded the earth, summoning nature to fight back against the invaders who had caused such turmoil to the land.

There were no more to charge at her. She snarled, feeling the heavy weight of anger slowly lift from her. Whatever vengeance held her, let go, leaving her body drained and exhausted. Their corpses surrounded her, a foul and sour stench of death, staining her throat and lungs.

Abelas walked towards her, his armor splattered with blood. "Are you done, shemlen?"

Her lips pulled back, barring her bloody canines. She was weak. But she wasn't dead.

He kneeled, unabashed, unphased. "You had your revenge." He lifted his hand to her cheek, pressing fingers through her blood soaked fur. "You are finished here."

Her growls subsided, leaning into the soothing heat of his hand. She violently shook, the magic that had sustained her slithered away until she was empty and hollow. The fur fell away, melting, until she was kneeling before him a hapless child, naked and shivering. She looked down, bloodied hands clenched in her lap. She gladly killed them. She was a monster but so were they. They deserved it. Didn't they deserve it?

His hand fell away from her cheek. He stood, searched about the fort, grabbing whatever clothes he could find and securing them into a bag. He returned with a large pelt, thin and likely used for decoration. He wrapped it around her, helping her to her feet.

It was already dusk, the sun gleaming pink and orange across the edges of the horizon. They walked wordlessly back into the wilds, her feet avoiding the pools of blood. Not that it would have made much difference. She was already covered in it.

They took a slightly different path than the one she remembered. She thought it was to avoid the burnt corpses of her clan mates. Perhaps he understood her agony. Perhaps he took pity on her.

He dropped the bag of clothes turning his eyes to the stream ahead. It was a slow moving stream, shallow enough to reach her waist. "Bathe. I shall set up camp." It was a small patch of soft grass, a clearing good enough for a fire and two people.

She walked to the edge of the stream and dipped her toes into the cool water. Too cool for her liking. She looked back just as he was glancing up from stacking sticks over dry moss.

"I have already seen you naked." His words were firm but he stood up before heading into the woods.

She dropped the pelt, stepping further into the stream with regret. It was too cold, and the blood on her skin had already lost its warmth. The worst part was getting it out of the black tresses of her hair. It was a thick, drying mess. When she couldn't take another second of the cold, she stepped out onto the bank, shivering and hugging herself.

A set of clothes were already sprawled out waiting for her. Some of the items had belonged to her clan. The chainmail was elven make. The dark grey leathers of a great bear, slain by Hahren Pavel during passage through the Emerald Graves. She donned the items that fit the best, fastening them as best she could against her somewhat smaller frame. She grabbed a tattered scarf, woven from the soft hair that grew on the belly of the August Ram. It was thin enough for the forest heat and a comfort for the cold nights.

Abelas sat by the campfire, greaves and cuisses removed for cleaning. Most of the blood had been wiped away. His chainmail, like his armor, fit tightly like a glove against his small waist and trim thighs.

She sat adjacent to him, letting the heat of the fire burn hot against her face, burning away the chill in her muscles from the cold bath. She wanted to apologize for the mess she dragged him into. She wanted to thank him for taking the time to help her.

His words broke the silence, almost making her jump, "Ir abelas. Your clan deserved better, I am certain."

None of them would get a proper burial. Not a single member of her clan had been honored. She wouldn't have known the funeral prayer anyway. "Falon'Din guide them," she muttered half-heartedly.

He stared at her now, silently analyzing. His gaze returned to the armor. He set them down on the ground next to him and began to fiddle with his gloves. He took them off, ready to set them aside as well. "We shall stay here for the night and meet with the clan in the morning."

Zahirana looked around the darkness illuminated in soft orange. "I suppose I've slept in worse places..." Her eyes finally rested on him, the fire casting a flickering light across his features. She saw the broadness of his nose, his small mouth, wide jaw... And what looked to be dark blood glistening. It wasn't dried liked the rest of it.

She stood up, half-aware that she was leaning over him now, her knee pressed into the hard soil. She ran her thumb across his cheek, the blood still incredibly fresh. He gripped her wrist but he didn't look at her. His gaze remained averted, perhaps annoyed.

"You're bleeding." She swallowed her pulse, dropping down to her other knee. She kept her hand gently against the deep wound. "I am so sorry. You were wounded because of me." She grabbed the edge of his hood and pushed it back to see the cut in a better light.

"It shall heal." He grabbed both her wrists now, dared to look her in the eyes. His hair was silver and gray. It was tied back and decorated with a few thin braids.

“I could… heal it with magic.” Her words stumbled breathily from her, mindless almost, as she focused on the details of his features.

His hands slid down from her wrist to her elbows and up along her arms. His gaze moved across her, resting on her lips. He lifted to his knees, towering above her and merely inches away.

His movements were too slow, too thought out. She was impatient. She leaned forward with his cloak gripped tightly in her hands. She was so uncertain, so desperate. Her lips brushed across his but were too frightened for a kiss. She waited for some sign, any sign, that he too wanted this.

He gripped her waist firmly, pulled her into him, and pressed his lips hard against hers. His kiss was desperate and clumsy, unpracticed and raw. A ragged moan broke free as he kissed deeper, harder, a hand sliding down her back and gripping her thigh. But then, Abelas quickly drew away, leaving her breathless and mouth agape, his touch dissipating, her mind quaking under the heat. “We can not.” He stood with his attention elsewhere and walked towards the stream.

She didn’t chase after him. She didn’t plead with him. No, she caught her breath and gathered her senses. She had made a move towards him and he in turn drew a line in the sand. She would make sure not to cross it. If he had boundaries, she would respect them. Atisha had been wrong. He hadn’t felt anything, after all. And on top of that, she foolishly went against tradition. There were no exchange of gifts, or talks with Keepers... Not that she even had a Keeper anymore. She wasn't even sure he had a Keeper or if he was the Keeper.

Her fingers ran through her damp hair, pushing it back out of her face. What was her plan? Follow Abelas and his clan north to Skyhold? Leave the only area she knew? She could try to make it on her own... She rolled her eyes closed, feeling the pressure behind them.

Rest, for now she needed rest.

 


	5. Chapter 5

She had slept curled up around the fire, it's heat a gentle warming hug. During the night, the mist that rose from the stream behind her left her spine an icicle. She sighed, pleased that she had managed to sleep without constant anxiety to wake her. It took her a moment to recognize where she was. The fire had died, likely hours ago. Her eyes slid up to Abelas' face across the ashes of the campfire.

He was staring at her in turn, sitting, impatiently glaring. “Your magic is unskilled. It needs training.”

She rolled her eyes and rubbed the sleepiness from her face. “Good morning to you too, Abelas.” Zahirana unfolded onto her back, stretched out, feeling the joints in her legs and arms creak. The muscles in her left arm still felt so incredibly rubbery.

"If you are going with us, you need training." He stood up and rounded the space between them. His armor was all but gone and only the chainmail covered his sleek form. "What spells do you already know?"

Zahirana sat up, pulling her legs in just as Abelas was sitting down across from her. "Keeper Athenaya taught me a healing spell and... I learned shapeshifting, sort of on my own."

He took her hands, turning them palm up, and ran his fingers along their surface. He was spinning a spell, magic's cold touch, lingingering with each passing. "The magic in your bones is strong... With proper guidance you would be a powerful opponent."

She turned her attention to the stream and out across the other side where fields and trees were mingled with gray mist. She pulled her hands from him, wrapping them around herself.

"You don't wish to learn." He grabbed her chin firmly, almost aggravated, and forced her to look at him. "Your "Keeper" tried to teach you?"

His gaze was intense, her skin boiling with heat. He made her confess all of her thoughts with that simple look. "I didn't want to spend my entire life inside of a dark aravel reading dusty tomes of a dead world. I didn't want that life. I wanted to see the ruins for myself. I wanted to live this life instead of imaging... what someone else's life had been like."

"And what do you want now?"

She looked at her hands, calloused from years of hunting and exploring. "I want to be useful. I want to learn."

He grabbed her hands, forcing them palm up again. "Then learn. Summon your healing spell."

She pulled the gentle energy through her body and out towards her fingers, wielding just as Keeper Athenaya had taught her to. Healing should be compassion, should be loving.

He shook his head, brows furrowed together. "No, you are doing it wrong. You are putting too much--"

She pulled her hands away, balling up fists and crushing the spark of magic.

"You will not learn if you grow angry."

A laughed jutted free. "Angry, says the man who's never smiled a day in his life." She jumped to her feet, as agile as a cat. "Atisha can teach me. She's the healer."

"Atisha," he cursed, muttering elvish words too quickly for her ears to pick up on.

"Why are you so angry all the time, anyway? Someone steal your halla?"

He lifted off of the ground in a single movement. "You have yet to witness my anger, shemlen."

"Shemlen? Again with the name calling? Fine, you want to throw insults around..." She searched for a proper word but the only thing she blurted was, "Knife-ear!"

His lips parted, more confused than appalled. "How... was that an insult?"

She bit down on her bottom lip. "It's just what the humans call us..." She shook herself mentally. "Who are you? You don't know about knife-ear. You don't have a Keeper. Don't have aravels. Somehow have incredible armor. You work for Fen'Harel. Yet, everyone in your clan has the vallaslin of Mythal."

He stood there, burrowing a hole through her. "We are Elvhen."

"Yes, but..."

"No," he stated it firmly, but without his usual bitterness. "We are Elvhen. You are but the shadow of what we are. You are a broken misrepresentation of what we were. We are Elvhen, risen from our long slumber."

Uthenera... She replayed the words but her mind couldn't quite grasp it. Was he saying that... Yes, he was, but how was it possible. "You're ancient elves?"

"Tasked as Sentinels, guarding the Temple of Mythal." He slowly donned his armor, sliding it over the chainmail with mild difficulty. "Our purpose ended and now we search for a new task."

"Fen'Harel... But he's the trickster. He betrayed Mythal."

Abelas gave a quick, rusty laugh, a sound so unfamiliar, so unpracticed. "Is that what you think?"

She breathed deep, desperate to fill her lungs with oxygen. She focused on the scent of evergreen, crisp firs, damp mists, a refreshing morning. She clenched and unclenched her hands, and when she thought she was confident she said, "Our tales are wrong then."

Abelas stood tall, golden red armor gleaming. "And a great deal of many things."

"I think... I need to be alone. I can meet you back at the camp." She swallowed with hope that her throat would stop closing in.

He stood there, his eyes narrowing. He made no efforts to leave.

"Abelas. You've destroyed everything I know and on top of that my whole clan is dead." She shifted her weight onto to another leg, almost backing away from him. "I just need some time to take all of this in."

"You expect me to walk away, to leave you here alone."

She jutted out her jaw, lifting her chin. "Yes."

He lifted his hands, ready to argue, ready to say something with heated fury, but he threw his hands down and shook his head. "Fine. If you..." He bit down on his next words. "I will see you at camp, then." He turned around, broad shoulders stiff with tension, and walked back into the cool shadows of the wilds.

She remained in the clearing, basking in the sunlight of the early morn. She dropped to her knees, letting the hard earth hit against the bone of her kneecaps. All of the knowledge Keeper Athenaya had coveted was a lie. All of the knowledge she tried force feeding Zahirana was for nothing. Her clan had died and they had held nothing of the true Elvhen.

Falon'Din. Was he even guiding them? She had seen Fen'Harel standing before her, a simple and modest looking elf. He didn't betray Mythal? Then what did he do? What really happened?

She needed answers, better answers. Likely ones Abelas wasn't willing to give. She had to know and perhaps Atisha would be willing to share. Even so, even if she learned the truth, what difference would it make now?

 

She walked through camp, feeling every eye on her. She wasn't Elvhen. She was a shadow and likely not one they admired. Abelas stood over a roughly drawn map, one the Dread Wolf had left behind. Atisha stood next to him and another elf stood across the boulder.

"You returned," Atisha beamed. "Your clan?"

Zahirana's eyes dropped away and she shook her head with little effort. She tried to focus on the map rather than Atisha's expression. The pain in her face might have been too much. "What's the plan?"

Abelas placed a finger on the lower portion of the map. "We shall travel through the... Emerald Graves."

Zahirana nodded. "That area is wrought with war. It's not a peaceful place. If we do go through there, I'd suggest we skirt along the base of this ridge." She slid her finger along the map where the mountains were drawn on the eastern side.

"That will require more time."

"And less casualties," Atisha argued.

Abelas looked at the elf across from him. "Enasalin?"

He looked up, leaning back with his arms over his chest. His vallaslin was bright red, taking over most of his face. He was older looking, wrinkles between his brows, likely from constant scowling. "We can handle a battle but if we can avoid it..."

"Very well." Abelas folded the map. "Let everyone know we are leaving."

Atisha rounded the large stone, linking her arms with Zahirana, and leading her towards the rest of the clan. "It is good of you to return, lethallan."

"I know what you are, Atisha." The words came out abruptly, more bitter than she had intended them to.

Atisha smiled, wide enough to flash her teeth. "Abelas told you then?"

"Well, yes..."

For some reason the healer giggled in delight. "The two of you, out there alone together..." She held Zahirana's hand between both of her own, almost like a grandmother cheering on her grandchild. "Something happened, didn't it?"

Zahirana felt a blush, thinking of the brief kiss. But all of it was swept away when she remembered Abelas had disapproved. "You were wrong. He doesn't feel anything. Please, let's drop it?"

"Ma da'len," she scolded gingerly. "You are looking at things in the wrong light." She turned, gently pulling Zahirana around to look out at the long field where the camp had been resting, the base of the crumbled ruins. Abelas was speaking with a group of elves, the typical scouts she had seen at the front. "What do you see when you look at him?"

She grunted, huffing childishly. "A very angry man."

Atisha raised a brow, humming a soft sound. "Oh? Look at him when he thinks no one is watching. Perhaps then you might just see his true expression."

She shook her head, hardly listening now. "What are you, anyway, the clan matchmaker." She wrestled her arm free, with little effort because Atisha let her go. "It's a long walk to the Emerald Graves. And I've got better worries to think over, like ancient elves."

Atisha laughed loud, likely attracting most of the camp's attention.

Zahirana plowed forward, walking with the elves who were already following Enasalin into the soft shadows of the woodlands. The ground was a mixture of rocks, soft grass, and fallen branches. Her feet were tough, like most Dalish who spent their lives in the woods without shoes. This was familiar territory. She wasn't quite so certain about the mountains whenever they reached them...


	6. Chapter 6

It was quite the journey, traveling through the wilds, reaching the Emerald Graves. It was hot, humid, rainy and when night came sweat chilled to frost. They made the occasional campfire to keep warm but they abandoned setting up the tents. Tents took too long to set up and then take down. They slept after sunset and woke before the sunrise.

Her clan never moved in such a way. They always had the halla to tend to, the aravels to repair and maintain, the elderly to look after. The clan's trek was always a paced journey, a peaceful stroll through natural landscapes, an exciting adventure.

This, this was an advancement, an efficient military campaign. This was a hardened army full of battle ready Elvhen. It was frightful to think what they were capable of.

"There is a small town up ahead." Suledin, who seemed to be the head scout, reported to Abelas in the early morning as everyone was gathering their supplies to leave. They had left and returned before the sun's light slithered along the horizon.

"It would be more efficient to travel through."

Zahirana sat a distance away, donning the leathers of her armor. "Hold on," she interjected, face hardening into seriousness. "We can't just travel through."

Atisha had been eating breakfast, a small morsel of bread and meat shared amongst the large group. "Is there a problem with traveling through?"

Abelas grumbled, "There is always a problem."

Zahirana shook her head, hands rising with her emotions. "I get that you aren't exactly from around here or whatever but allow me to fill you in: humans don't like us. They don't let the Dalish waltz through town whenever we feel like. They certainly won't let a well armed battalion of Elvhen to pass through. The likely scenario is that the guard attack us on sight.”

Abelas rolled his eyes to Suledin as if the elf would somehow sympathize.

“I can search for an alternative route.” He nudged his head towards the waiting scouts.

“Quickest and shortest,” ordered Abelas. “We have wasted plenty of our time.” He threw his gaze and all of the fire behind it towards Zahirana. He was obviously talking about her. He ventured off into camp to assist with getting things moving.

“Still think he’s not grumpy?” muttered Zahirana.

Atisha sneered gleefully. She ate the last of her food. “Still think he’s attractive?” she whispered with a playful giggle as she walked off to busy herself.

Zahirana finished getting her armor on then headed to join the others. They were leaving the woodline. Before them was a rolling valley on fields and protruding rocks. Her clan hadn’t traveled into the area recently. She knew there were wars going on. Wars between human nobles and wars between mages and templars. The specifics were unknown to her.

Suledin led them onto a ridge overlooking the town. It gave them a great advantage to see the humans without being so easily seen. Zahirana skirted around the army, looking over the edge of the ridge to peer down at the human village. She’d always seen them from a distance, never quite this close. The aravels always made it easy for them to be spotted, their bright sails alerting anyone to their presence. It was always best to keep the peace by keeping the distance.

Abelas stopped to stand next to her, glowering at what he no doubt saw as a pitiful sight. She imagined he bore no love for the humans. He probably liked them less than the Dalish if not in equal parts. “Keep up with us or be left behind.”

She walked away from the edge, letting her eyes run over the rooftops and alleyways once more. But her feet grew heavy and her brows knitted together. Some poor flat-ear was pinned against the wall, a large and broader human standing over him. Her heart was racing, pounding in her ears. She was conflicted, forced to make a choice between staying with the Elvhen or sneaking her way down to the village.

Sure, he was a stranger and she had no business in human affairs. But he was an elf. He was in dire need of help. He was being bullied by someone bigger than him.

“Zahirana?” Atisha called out to her, looking back as the group was moving further away.

She looked at Atisha, running the edge of her teeth against her worn lips, then turned her attention to the city elf. The human was shouting, too distant for her to comprehend, but the elf before him was a thin and meager opponent. “I have to help.”

Abelas lifted his chin, almost gazing up at the sky with resentment. “We are not assisting in this mortal concern.”

“You would leave him to suffer, an elf, one of your own?”

His shoulders stiffened, face twisting with irritation. “My own? They are not one of us.” He pointed a finger to the human settlement, putting a great deal of tension behind the gesture. “They are not my concern.”

His anger passed over her, unaffecting her. She was used to it by now. “They are my concern. Keep going without me. I’m heading down there.”

“Abelas,” scolded Atisha as Zahirana backtracked down the path.

“Atisha. They are not our people.”

She shook her head, pushing back her hood with annoyance. “You took time to save Zahirana and she was not one of our own.”

He growled, muttering a curse in elvish. “She was along the way.”

“Along the way.” Atisha pulled her lips wide but it was not a smile in the least. It was bitter and wholly discouraging. “You turned our entire group off course to attack bandits that had her pinned to the ground. You ordered her rescue..."

Zahirana didn’t hear much of the rest. She was too busy sliding down the slope of the ridge and towards the town. She was her clan’s best scout, best hunter. It was the only reason Keeper Athenaya even let her join Sarlen. She used the shadows cast by the homes, the balls of her feet to silence her steps, and the walls to steady her movements.

She reached the corner, peering around the edge. The human was too busy shouting which would give her enough cover. The elf was cowering on the ground and she didn’t bother looking him over. She was afraid of what she would see.

Before she could round the corner, Abelas was walking passed with heavy steps. Fury was fueling his movements, each precise and planned step was quiet with so little effort. He placed a hand over the human’s mouth and slid a blade in and out of his throat with one fluid movement. There was an awful sound, blood pooling in his mouth, drowning him.

Zahirana’s lips parted, her eyes widening with each second.

Abelas wiped the blade clean using the man’s shirt and sheathed it behind him. He reached down, clenching the elf’s collar, and roughly pulled him onto his feet. “Pitiful creature.”

The elf rose his hands in surrender. “Please, don’t kill me.”

Zahirana ran forward, seeing the exhaustion and fear in the man’s face. His clothes were tattered and torn from constant use. He was wasted, nothing but bones, and he was beaten. A black eye would darken where there was swelling and blood seeped from his busted lip. “It’s alright. We just wanted to help. Are you okay?”

He lowered his head, peering down off to the side. He was trying to shrink down, disappear. It was likely what the humans had taught him. “You killed him…”

“He was hurting you,” she reasoned.

He tried looking up at her but his gaze wavered. “What do you want?”

She looked to Abelas, even though she knew he wouldn’t have any answers, then back to the city elf. “We’re here to help.”

“You should leave.” He pushed off the wall, his hands fiddling nervously before him. “They’ll kill you for killing him. You're an elf. It’s against the law.”

Zahirana didn’t understand human laws and she wasn’t certain she cared to understand them. “Are there others? They can come with us. You can come with us.”

Abelas folded arms over his chest. “We are not a charity or an orphanage.”

She pressed her lips thin. Atisha would have agreed. “Where is everyone?” She scanned the ridge, half-believing she’d see them up there gawking down. “Where’s Atisha?”

“After you charged off, she came down here.”

Zahirana slowly walked down the alley then peered out into the village square. Humans were being rounded up, the Elvhen army had gathered most of them together with archers upon the roofs standing guard. On the ground with a few others was Atisha. She looked over her shoulder at them, motioning them over.

Abelas took the lead, not willing to wait for the city elf to shuffle close behind.

“How dare you!” One of the humans stepped forward pushing other humans out of his way. He was likely their leader for he was better dressed than the others. “We had no quarrel with you Dalish.”

“Dalish,” Abelas spatted. He folded his arms over his chest, lifting a relaxed hand to his chin. “Do we look “Dalish” to you, shemlen?”

His gaze swept over the elves before him, looking up to the archers who were aiming down on him. His anger was all but stolen. "What is it that you want?”

Atisha smirked. She stepped towards the man, placing gentle hands onto his shoulder. “Where are all of your slaves?”

“Slaves?” He was appalled. “We don’t have slaves in Orlais.”

“Elven servants,” Zahirana chimed in. “Where are they?”

His gaze rolled from her to the city elf cowering behind her. Something flashed across his eyes, something dark. “They’re over on the edge of town.” He nudged his chin towards the west, away from the ridge they had taken earlier.

Atisha patted his shoulders, straightening out the cloth but her movement seemed so ominous, not at all the motherly gestures she had experienced. “Now, that was not difficult at all.”

Zahirana linked her arms with the weak city elf and pulled him along with her. She noticed the elven homes immediately. They were dilapidated buildings, a far contrast to the human homes near the town square. A few elves stood out front of the largest of the homes. They were weary and she was certain they had reason to be.

“You alright, Tucker?” One of the elves stepped forward and he seemed in better shape than the others, likely from hard labor.

The elf next to her nodded. “I’m alright. They… wanted to help us.”

He shook his head, eyeing Zahirana with mild interest. “You don’t realize what you did, do you?” He looked back at the elves behind him then stared her down. “They’ll either kill us or put us on lockdown for rebelling."

She couldn't understand why any elf would submit to such conditions. “Come with us.” Zahirana let Tucker walk away towards the house behind them, each of his steps slow and pained.

“Survive out there?”

“It’s better than surviving here,” she pleaded, hardly understanding the resignation. “He was beaten until he was on the ground. At least out there, you have a chance.”

He stepped back, turning towards the house and motioning her to follow. She joined them inside of the house, the inside looking worse than imaginable. There were holes in the floor, boarded up awkwardly, and the air was stifling and stale. Inside was a gathering of city elves, varying ages. Abelas slowly joined her, his eyes scanning over the conditions.

“These people,” the city elf stated, “know nothing of surviving in the wilderness.”

“I can teach you,” she reasoned, speaking to all of them now. “Whoever wants to come with us, I beg you to come. My clan…” Her voice trailed away, her eyes lowering to the rotting floorboards. This squalor... These conditions...

“If you are coming take very little.” Abelas grabbed her by the elbow and turned towards the open door. “We will wait in the town square for you.” They walked through the alleyways, the air being a gentle relief to their lungs. Abelas finally muttered, “This is what the Elvhen have been reduced to.”

“I wanted to help them but now… I’m not certain if we did any good.” A few city elves had managed to escape that life and joined her clan. They were eager to learn and rarely spoke of the conditions they had lived through. She understood now. She didn’t understand why elves would choose to live that way. But who was she to say that Dalish life was better. Her whole clan had died out there, trying to survive.

Zahirana knew one thing. She could never give up the wilds, the vast openness, the freedom she had lived. She had run wild with wolves, laughed hard at the hunting tales told by the campfire, had climbed into the high canopies of forests and looked out over the horizon. She wouldn’t have given up that life no matter the events, no matter the heartache.

Atisha let her lips widen into a smile. “Good news?”

He fidgeted with the placement of his gloves, busying himself with any task possible. “Those who wish to join us will meet us here. Then, we leave. We have lost too much daylight. We will likely have to keep walking into the night.”

“We are reaching the mountains,” Atisha agreed. “We will need to stock up on supplies before trekking into them.”

“There’s a map.” Tucker, the elf from before walked towards them, a small rucksack in his hands. “It’s in the tavern. A few travellers mark locations, leave notes for others. It could help.”

Suledin nodded his head, backing away. “I’ll grab the map.”

“Others are coming,” he added. “If you’ll have them.” He quickly looked at Abelas, remembering the harsh statement he had made before.

“They are more than welcome.” Atisha’s voice was soothing and she made sure to take the poor elf’s hand into her own. “I am called Atisha. I am the… clan’s healer.”

Zahirana knew they weren’t a clan. She knew this but it was good to hear Atisha speak it. She looked to the alleyway, watching as city elves made their way forward. The tension that had been gripping her was fading. Perhaps, she had done the right thing? Perhaps, life would be better for them now.


	7. Chapter 7

They followed along the mountain, slower than their previous movements. The city elves slowed their pace but it was a welcomed relief to Zahirana. It seemed to lighten the atmosphere, breaking down the barriers that many of the Elvhen had put up. There was laughter again, cheerful songs around the campfires, just like she remembered on her first night. It felt like a clan rather than an army.

According to the map that Suledin collected from the tavern, there was a pathway into the mountains that led to Skyhold. It was a difficult path that quite a few merchants were taking. However, it was better than no path at all. The mountains would be cold and thick with snow. She remembered, years ago, the clan had gone through those mountains for the Arlathvhen. It had been a bitter journey and not one of her fondest memories.

Thankfully, the hunters were saving furs for both the tents and clothing, the city elves were skilled at mending attire, a result of their harsh conditions. Many of them were unprepared for such harsh conditions, despite this they held some knowledge on how to hunt. It was the best way to put food on the table, hunting in secret to feed their families. The Elvhen gave them pointers, eager to share their knowledge, which Zahirana hadn't expected.

It was late into the night, they had just made their way up most of the path when they stopped to set up camp. The campfires were small, a lack of firewood because in turn there were very few trees. They set up the tents, expecting heavy snowfall sometime during the night. The number of tents were smaller than the number of elves. Many would have to share.

Zahirana sat down on the edge of the encampment, finding a barren spot beneath a fir tree to find some quiet solitude. She stared down towards the horizon, feeling the vast distance between herself and her childhood home.

"Some of the... "city elves" dislike the cramped quarters."

Abelas was staring at the young elf before him, his eyes likely simmering with rage and regret. He, after all, didn't want them to come along for the journey. "They will have to deal with it. We are all living in such a way."

He bowed his head briskly. "Of course."

Abelas turned away from the camp, his expression releasing its hatred. It softened into utter sorrow, the corner of his lips were pulled down and his eyes were under saddened brows. If Zahirana hadn't known better, she thought for a moment that he would begin to cry. He looked weakened, exhausted. She quickly looked away before he caught her staring. He was too proud. He wouldn't have wanted her to see that.

"Abelas." Suledin hurried through the camp, weaving through the campfires.

"What is it?" His voice was hardened again, bitter.

The young scout pushed back his hood, letting the moonlight gleam across his face. His vallaslin was dark blue and the light of the moon seemed to make it stronger against his pale skin. "There is a cave up ahead. Some scouts say they spotted... humanoid creatures."

"I am going to require a better description than that, Suledin."

The young scout nodded. "They are decaying men, unnatural and alive."

"Darkspawn, probably." Zahirana had made her way over when she heard the strained worry in the poor scout's voice. "The Keeper kept us away from them during the Blight but I've heard her talk about them. Walking corpses, corrupted things."

Abelas took a moment to gather his thoughts. "We will take a small team inside and dispatch them. Where is Atisha and Enasalin?"

"I will get them right away." Suledin headed off into camp, light on his feet.

Zahirana moved into his view. "I'm a good scout. I can help."

Abelas swept his gaze across her face. "Is that so?" He walked over to one of the fires where many have left their things and picked up a bow and full quiver. "Go on. Prove it to me." He haughtily pushed the items into her arms.

She lifted her chin, trying to find a worthy retort.

He shook his head, smug that he had won. "You can not. I have seen you practice and your arm is too weak. You have yet to draw the string on a bow. Do not tell me you are capable."

"I have magic." She threw the weapons down, hating them for their existence.

Abelas laughed a bitter sound. "Untrained magic."

"Why is my need to help such an insult to you?" She stepped forward, her anger giving her abrupt courage. It roiled within her and every ounce of control kept her magic from simmering.

Atisha's laugh broke their tension. "Am I interrupting or shall we deal with the threat to our people?"

Abelas turned to her. "Enasalin?"

Atisha glanced over her shoulder. "Suledin went to find him."

"I will lead a small group into the cave. Enasalin and you shall stay here to protect everyone else. If we do not return, continue to Skyhold immediately. Do not take any risks."

Atisha grabbed his arm as he was walking by. "Take Zahirana. It will not harm you to have extra assistance."

Abelas narrowed his eyes. "I am not going to be responsible for her."

"I can take care of myself." She walked closer, determined to be of use.

He gave a reluctant nod of his head. "Very well. Come." He placed a hand against Atisha's shoulder. "Tell Suledin to meet me at the cave with his best."

Zahirana followed behind his quick pace. The snow barely slowed him as they worked their way through the maze of tents and fires. The cave was a fair good distance away, carved into the mountainside like the wide mouth of a dragon. She didn't care for caves or small, dark places for that matter.

Suledin wasn't far behind. He had two others with him, both carrying daggers. She supposed that bow and arrows would be little help in close quarters. She only hoped her meager spells would offer some assistance. She wanted more than anything to be useful, to do something other than waiting around.

Abelas flourished his fingers, summoning a spark of fire. "Stay close."

The darkness was thick, engulfing nearly every bit of light, including the flame in Abelas's palm. He lead the way, unnerved by the humming of the darkness. There was movement up ahead but it was hard to determine if it was protruding rock or something alive. Splashes of water trickling down the sides of the cave and along stalactites echoed around them.

Her heart was quickening, thumping against her eardrums. The fighting started abruptly, quicker than she had expected. They moved about the dark with ease and her elvish vision had such difficulty keeping track of them.

One lunged at Abelas but he was skilled enough to defend himself. It was when the others came that the battle became overwhelming. There were swarms of them, unending numbers, but the Elvhen were fluid in their movements. Each slash of the dagger was quick and precise.

Zahirana focused, drawing the energies around her, releasing it from her grasp when the darkspawn grew near enough. She spun the magic again, forcing the creature back with enough force that it flew hard against the cave wall. She had no time to consider her next move. Another was approaching and she drew on magic for a shield.

There was a bellowing sound that shook the cave, a horrible and deep rumble. It was large, whatever it was, each step shaking the hard stone around them. It was running now, steps quaking the ground beneath them with a quickening charge.

It appeared, a large orgre and standing before it was a darkspawn mage. Both of them seemed to hiss, the mage sputtering words in an unknown language. Magic, dark and unholy, weaved through the air. Abelas fought back, his magic holding up against the searing darkness. But out of the corner of the tunnel, a darkspawn leapt from behind stone, tossing a black liquid into Abelas's face, ending his spell.

Zahirana quickly summed a burst of energy, twisting it through the air until the darkspawn was a crippled mass thrown across the cave's ragged floor.

"Down there, go!" He pointed towards a thin and narrow tunnel, his other hand gripping at his wincing eyes. She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the darkness of the tunnel, leaving the ogre and mage behind. She looked back, Suledin and his comrades were right behind her, defending off any darkspawn that would follow into such a narrow space.

But in between breaths, the ground fell out beneath her feet, Abelas shouted as they both fell into a dark void. She watched Suledin skid to a stop, his arm swinging out to block the other scouts from running forward into the same bottomless pit. A cry of agony ruptured from her throat as they hit the smooth, hard ground.

Time passed, seconds or perhaps minutes. She gained her senses and a feeling of dull pain throbbing in her back. She could hear Suledin above, calling out their names with desperation.

"Abelas?" She felt around in the dark, feeling him beside her. He too was slowly gaining consciousness. "We're alright!"

"We will go find help." Suledin shuffled in the dark, likely rounding the enormous sinkhole. "Stay safe, the both of you."

Abelas was frantic, sucking down a breath of air, he summoned a spark of fire, waving it about the darkness.

"Abelas!" She grabbed his wrist, keeping him from hitting her with it.

"My eyes!" The fire grew brighter with each ounce of fear that began to consume him. "My eyes are blind. I can not see!"

Zahirana gripped his shoulders. "It's alright. We're going to get out of here. I'm going to get you out of here." She could see his eyes, briefly, before he extinguished his spell. Black liquid had been thrown there and the veins of his eyes were pulsing red. She'd never seen the likes of it. Magic? Poison? The Blight?

She gripped his wrist, putting it away from her. "I need a small flame to see. I'll get us out of here." She was afraid, more than she let on. She didn't like small spaces. She didn't like caves. She needed open skies, wide fields, vast forests... She needed air. But more than anything, she needed to stay calm, calm for his sake.

He summoned a small flame, smaller than normal, likely because losing his sight had sapped any confidence he had in his own magic. His other hand gripped her shoulder, using it for balance as they got to their feet.

Zahirana moved the fire around, searching for an opening. "There's a tunnel." She looked up above where they had fallen and feared the darkspawn might catch sight of the gleaming light. "Let's see where it leads. We might find an exit."

His fingers gripped tighter on her shoulder.

It pained her, hearing the frailty in his tone. She walked forward, keeping him behind her to avoid any of the protruding surfaces and awkward formations. It seemed as if they walked on forever, the path of a writhing serpent, slick with puddles, the air damp and salty.

Abelas grunted, his grasp falling away and the light flickering out.

She spun around, anxiously reaching out to find him, desperate to have the comfort of another in the suffocating darkness. "Abelas? Are you alright?"

The light of fire glinted again. "I... tripped." He wasn't hiding his expressions behind a facade anymore. He was frightened and ashamed, head bowed with defeat.

She grabbed his hand, placing it back on her shoulder. "I'll be a better guide this time." She looked over her shoulder then back at him. "Let's rest for a moment." She sat back against the cave wall with him and tried to recollect her emotions.

She didn't want to tell him but the path seemed almost unending. The tunnel was dark, perhaps darker than ever, and she wasn't certain it had an end. What if she was leading him further into his death? He was weak by the poison, or worse, it was the blight. There was no cure for the blight. She didn't let herself think about what would happen to him if it were something incurable.

"We should turn back." Her words were a whisper now, straining against her dry throat.

He attempted to laugh but it was breathy and weak. "Return to the darkspawn?"

"No ones likes a pessimist." She shook, trembling beneath his hand, and she prayed that he didn't notice. She wasn't sure if the cold of the cave was getting to her or if it was the uncertainty of being lost.

"I miss it," he muttered, pushing his head back as if he were gazing at the ceiling. "I had purpose as a sentinel. I had a duty to protect what was most sacred. I despise the dark. I despise the emptiness of it. Slumbering in darkness for hundreds of years was bearable knowing that I had a reason, a sacrificial honor, in serving Mythal." His eyes fluttered, lips parting as his thoughts became overwhelming. "What am I now? What is my purpose?"

Zahirana swallowed hard, forcing herself to be calm and steady. She feared her voice would crack. She prayed to the Creators to give her the strength. "You have a clan to take care of. You have a life to live. You don't have to sacrifice yourself to have a reason to be alive."

"I was a sentinel. What am I now?" Her words seemed to have little effect. He needed hope, something to hope for, and that meant getting him out of the tunnel and to a healer.

"Let's go. There has to be an exit somewhere." She pulled him up onto his feet, waiting until he got his bearings.

His hold on her shoulder felt weaker than before. "These tunnels could go on for days. We may not find a way out."

She snatched hold of his wrist, drawing the flame in front of her. "I said we are getting out. I am getting us out." She dragged him forward, not letting him gather words for an argument. Even if they walked for days, she would keep searching. There had to be an end. Creators, there had to be an end to that tunnel.

She rounded another turn, the walls widening, giving her more space to breathe. She sucked down a breath of air, steadying her thoughts, feeling the soft chilling wind against her cheeks. "Hold on."

"What is it?" He waved the flame around, desperate to see past his ailment.

She placed her fingers on top of his hand resting on her shoulder. "We're not in danger. I think I feel a draft. There's an opening somewhere." She moved forward, Abelas shuffling behind her. She gathered all of her courage and all of her hope. If the Creators held any mercy they would give her an exit, an escape.

The light was dim, faded, a soft haze of gray sky.

"Anything?" His voice wavered.

She sighed, a sound of relief. "There's an opening. I think we're still in the mountains." They grew closer, snow dancing at the rim of the cave. It was cold, colder than the inside of the mountain. Breezier, that was certain. She helped Abelas against the cave wall, letting him slide down to rest.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a half smile. "This has been exciting."

She stared, somewhat shocked. "Was that a joke?"

"How is my appearance?" His body trembled, his face paler than it had ever been. She could see him clearly now, the light of the evening sun illuminated his features. He was sick, likely feverish, and needed healing. He was crumpled, barely able to hold himself up.

"Hellish." She smirked then realized he couldn't see it. "Let me heal you. Maybe I can help."

He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly. She grabbed it just as uncertain. "You must leave me behind. You are stronger than I am."

Her words were firm, determined. "I am not leaving you. As soon as the snow lets up, I'm going to collect firewood. Right now, you need to let me heal this."

His shoulders slumped and he lowered his head, giving up on whatever hope remained. "If you leave, you have a better chance of finding help. I will slow down your progress."

"Shut up." She lifted her hands, rising them to his eyes.

He snatched hold of her wrists. "Do not waste your own energy to heal me. Let your magic do all of the work. Take energy from me."

She shook her head, hardly believing in such an idiotic idea. "You are weak as it is."

"Both of us being weak will not help." He turned his head towards the soft wind that crept into the cave. "Is there anything out?"

"Not much." She didn't bother looking. She already knew. The mountains were barren, very few trees littered its surface. She gathered magic from the earth, the hard frozen soil, seeking out any remnant that might be there. It was hard to find natural magic in such a frozen wasteland. She wielded what little she found into the tips of her fingers. She tried to remember what she had learned. Healing is compassion, it is love, it is gentle.

She ran her fingers along his eyelids, gentle as she could, feeling the poison that had dried there. She was certain it was poison, now. It didn't feel like the Blight, like the darkspawn from earlier. Healing magic chimed between their skin. She pulled her hands away and examined his eyes. They weren't bloodshot anymore.

His head hung low. "Nothing."

She clenched her hands, getting to her feet. "I'm going to find some branches. We need to get a fire going if we plan on surviving the night."

He sucked down a breath of air, snatched a hold of her leg the closest thing he could grab. "Do not go out there."

She dropped down on one knee. She wasn't certain if he was more afraid for her safety or his own. "I will be right back."

His eyes searched, trying to catch any ray of light. "Be careful." He meant those words. He couldn't hide his expression anymore, not in this state, and she saw there written plainly all of his raw emotions.

"I will." She hurried out into the snow, it was falling softer than before, but every flake sapped the little heat remaining in her. She surveyed the area, gathering every stick from every tree. She pulled off the soft bark of the Cyprus trees, stuffing it into the padding of her armor. She hurried back, knowing well that Abelas was blind and scared.

He summoned a flicker of fire in defense. "Zahirana?"

"It's me, I'm right here." She dropped the sticks onto the cave floor, away from the entrance. No use in getting their fire blown out by a gust of wind. She placed the Cyprus bark beneath the carefully placed sticks. "I'll need your fire spell."

He lit the spark and allowed her to guide him towards the firewood. The Cyprus bark caught fire quickly. She waited, pleading, the fire would grow, that it would feast on the branches. The flame spread, slowly but certainly.

Zahirana joined Abelas against the cave wall, sighing her body against the rocky surface. His shoulder seemed to lean against her, just enough to make sure she was still there. Nervously, she leaned her head onto his broad shoulder.

"Should have left when you had the opportunity."

She rolled her eyes. "Should have shut up when I told you to."

"Someone is angry," he griped then sighed. "Ir abelas. That was supposed to sound softer than it did."

She laughed, letting it shake her whole body. "You're making jokes and apologizing?"

He reached out, placing a hand onto her leg. "What is this?"

"My knee," she told him blandly

He sighed almost in relief then patted her knee. "Promise me something, lethallan."

She sat up, looking at him squarely now. He had never called her anything quite as kindred. He was making a frightening change in personality. She was starting to miss the old Abelas. "Alright, what is it?"

He tried to look at her now, turned his head at least. "Promise me that when I am too weak to carry, you will leave me behind."

She huffed, sitting back hard against the wall. "Stop talking. I'm certainly not going to listen anymore."

He leaned against her again, closing his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

The cold woke her. It was a painful cold, brittling bones and straining sinews, her every muscle stiffly frozen. The side of her face was pressed into the smooth floor of the cave. She stared at the broken remnants of their makeshift pyre. It had gone out during the night and she had been too cold and too tired to gather more sticks. It would have been difficult at night alone but nearly impossible with the heavy snowfall.

She forced herself off the ground, keen to shake away the sleepiness of early morning. Abelas, she thought, searching for him. He laid on his side behind her, sleeping against her during the night, perfectly curved to fit her form. But something was wrong. He was unnaturally cold, deathly pale.

"Abelas." She pressed his face between her hands, rubbing her thumbs across his cheekbones. "Abelas... Abelas, wake up." When he didn't stir from sleep she panicked, searching for a pulse, checking to see if he was still alive. "Abelas, don't do this to me."

"Ma sa’lath." Finally, he made movements, eyes fluttering and hands reaching out to reorient himself. He was so frail and Zahirana knew there wasn't much time. She didn't bother coaxing him, or thinking too deeply about the endearment he had made. He was delirious.

She pulled him off the ground, anchoring his arm around her neck, and got them to their feet. He was silent, staggering with each step as they headed out into the luminous white mountains.

The snow was thick, up to their knees, and each step was a battle. They hadn't eaten and the little food shared at camp was not enough to sustain them. Their armor was lined with fur, heating their bodies, but because of the intense cold it was difficult to determine when they were working too hard. The cold kept them from overheating, kept them from sweating, but their bodies still felt the exhaustion. They would unknowingly overwork themselves.

Abelas finally slipped, dropping all of his dead weight down upon her shoulder. They collapsed, falling deep into the frozen powder. She panted beside him, catching her breath. There wasn't much around. A few scattered trees, their bases empty of snow. She grabbed him under the arm and pulled his heavy weight slowly towards the grassy patch of earth.

She needed a fire, something to keep him warm. He was so cold, his body ice, more frigid than the snow. There was nothing. Not a single piece of dry timber or kindling. Abelas was too weak to summon a fire spell. It would take hours to get a fire going, even more work to keep it going.

He still hadn't spoken, not even a protest of her presence. What she would give to have him yell at her to leave, lecturing her on taking the chance to run off to get help. "I'm not leaving you," she muttered, mostly to herself. "Abelas." She placed her hand against his cheek, helping him look up at her. "I'm going to shapeshift. I need you to climb on."

He looked at her, perhaps half-aware of what she was saying. He gave a pitiful nod.

She gathered all of her strength, meditating on the energy flowing through her. She summoned what little magic she had left, what little energy her body retained, and let it ripple across the surface of her skin. The beast took over, fur black as ebony, her bones sliding into a new form. The magic receded, leaving her a hot and panting mess. It was too much. The change was too much. But she refused to let it stop her.

She lied down beside him, nudging him to move. He gripped at her fur and if she hadn't wrenched her way beneath him he likely wouldn't have made it. He was on her back, barely, but it would be enough for now.

Zahirana waded back into the snow, the extra weight causing great difficulty to keep a good pace. Her heart was thrashing, lungs scorching with each icy breath she took. She stumbled then caught herself before falling, resolved to make it to a healer to anyone who could help. Her steps slowed, trudging through the wall of snow. It seeped through her fur coat, biting down into the marrow of her bones.

Up ahead there was movement. Her eyes burned to see past the intensity of the white snow reflecting the light of the sun. It was a herd. They smelled of elk and their high pitched cry resounded and echoed through the mountain pass.

Someone, likely their rider, shouted, "I think I see something."

People, she sighed. She didn't even let the thought of danger cross her mind. Not at first. Her form collapsed into the snow, Abelas rolling off of her. She panted, trying to gather her strength just in case there was danger, but her legs shook too hard to lift her.

They stopped a few feet away. Their riders dropping into the snow and slushing their way over. Their leader, a female elf, lowered her hood and scarf from her face. She was likely a city elf, her vallaslin noticeably absent.

A growl rolled about in her scorched throat. Friend or foe, had little meaning now. She wasn’t certain if it was her or the wolf that feared them most.

"Abelas?"

A mage followed behind her, his staff in his grasp. "I certainly wasn't expecting this. She's managed to turn herself into an animal. Remarkable, really. She'll have to teach me that trick. I might perform it at parties."

The flat-ear threw him a quick, daggered look. "I'm Inquisitor Lavellan." She kneeled down, still keeping the distance between them. "Suledin sent us."

Suledin, she thought, letting her eyes close. Abelas might make it.

"Blackwall," she called out over her shoulder. "Can you get Ableas on your horse?"

"He is poisoned," said a soft chirp of a voice, soft and gentle, a soothing sound that rolled over her mind sweeping away any fear or anxiety. "She says he needs a healer. He is dying." The large brim of his hat and the thickness of his scarf hid most of his face from view. He looked young but felt so incredibly old.

Inquisitor Lavellan stood up, tall and suddenly confident. "You heard Cole. Get him back to Skyhold, Blackwall. Fast."

A large beast of a man was guiding his mount over, an immense gray hart. He used his strength to pull Abelas from the ground. "He's heavy for an elf. You think the Elvhen eat better than the rest of you elves?"

Lavellan shook her head, almost rolling her eyes. "Quickly, Blackwall?"

He gave a loud, belly-shaking laugh. Abelas was on the hart with difficulty but once he was, they were off, kicking up snow in their race back towards Skyhold.

Lavellan kneeled down, eyes softer than before, closer than before. "Aneth ara, lethallan. I will take you to Skyhold but I need you to change back."

Zahirana released the magic that had buried itself into her skin. She was cold and shivering, the absence of fur all too evident. The mage stepped forward, spinning around his cape and draping it over her. It was the last thing she saw before her body and mind finally caved in, blacking out into unconsciousness.

She thought of the warm sun, baking her skin, as the clan followed the river through the wilds. The halla pulled the aravels behind them, their hooves pounding out a beautiful rhythm, beating in pace with Hahren Pavel's song. The children of the clan ran wild, pretending to be strong hunters, while the elders smirked at their innocence.

She scouted ahead, eager to run up along the craggy rocks to see what their travels had in store. Sarlen kneeled down beside her, out of breath but just as eager. His dark brown hair was braided, an untamed mass, falling in front of his face most days.

"Told you I would win," she gleefully boasted.

He punched her hard in the shoulder, knowing full well she could take the blow. "You may be the fastest runner but the whole clan knows who the better hunter is."

She gave a loud mocking laugh. "Andruil be damned you are. I bet I could take down a Great Bear with one arrow!"

He threw her a confident smirk. "I will take that bet."

"Neither of you will do no such thing," Keeper Athenaya's voice, old but vital, shouted at them from below. She stood tall and proud, her mage's staff gripped in her hands before her. "You will find a safe place for our aravels, da'len."

Zahirana laughed, a boisterous and giggly sound. She leapt ahead, shouting behind her with boastful glee, "One arrow!"

"Harellan!" Sarlen was following behind her, against the continued lecturing of Keeper Athenaya below.

Zahirana turned around, throwing him a cocky smile and out spread arms, antagonizing him to take her on.

 

She breathed deep, the air warm against her lungs and throat. It was filled with the earthy scents of herbs and smokey burning wood. She released her breath in a long sigh, her thoughts muddled but returning. She dreamed of something lovely but it was a fading memory now. It left her smiling and yet somehow agonized.

Her eyes pried open, glancing about the wooden beams of a ceiling, half expecting the sky. She slowly remembered the events leading to that moment. "Abelas." She tried to sit up but Atisha hurried over, pressing her back down against the bed.

"It is alright, lethallan."

"Abelas. Is he alive?"

"Yes." She stepped aside, letting her view him from across the room. "Skyhold has many advantages. Antidotes for strange poisons, happens to be one of them." She perched herself next to her bed, pouring a glass of water.

Zahirana sighed, pressing a hand against her forehead, fingers lightly raked into her hair. She was so tired, so exhausted, but so pleased. All of her efforts were not wasted. He would make it. "His vision," she blurted, fearful that he would never see again.

Atisha softly smiled. "We shall see but I believe his eyes are fine." She placed the glass into her hand, waiting until her patient took a sip of the refreshing liquid. "I will go and gather some food. The clan will be relieved to hear you are awake."

The clan, she considered as Atisha walked through the door.

She set down the glass of water, forcing herself out of bed. Stubborn as she was, she had enough of being weak. It wasn't in her nature to be stuck in bed like a sickly child. Her legs shook beneath her as she made her way over to Abelas' bed and dropped down into the wooden chair.

He was sleeping, peacefully, the color returning to his cheeks and lips. His hood was folded back, revealing all of the details in his features, the silver strands of his hair. The poison had been cleaned away and the redness that had been there was gone. She tightly closed her eyes. His saddened expression pained her. She remembered his half-delirious ramblings from the cave about not having a purpose. He was holding onto so much sorrow, masking it as hatred and bitterness.

A flicker of something against her hand made her jolt. His fingers had reached out weakly to grab hers. She quickly took hold of his hand, leaning forward as he opened his eyes. He didn't smile, didn't speak, didn't move. His eyes focused on their hands and then slowly closed. It was a peaceful silence, not at all forced.

The creaking of the door behind her made her jolt nearly out of her seat, dropping Abelas' hand. Atisha rounded the bed with plates of food, a wide smile splayed across her lips, and a laugh on her words, "Don't drop his hand on my account."

"You startled me." She sunk back into the hard chair.

Suledin sauntered over, stood at the foot of his bed. "Has he awoken?"

"Briefly," Zahirana muttered.

Abelas opened his eyes, the sternness of his expression in place as he had trained himself. "What I truly need is air and sunlight. Plenty of sunlight."

"Fantastic," Suledin chided, "there's plenty of it outside."

Atisha set the food down onto a small table against the wall. "Suledin. Get two chairs and bring them with you." She helped Abelas sit up, all of his strength being used to move each muscle. Zahirana helped, what little help she could offer, staggering with them to the door.

It was noon, the sun beaming high above them. It was cool and fairly warm for a day in the mountains. The sun was likely to be thanked for that. The skies were clear and it was free to warm all of the things below it. The ground was even visible, dried coarse grass, brown from winter’s touch.

Suledin placed chairs against the stone wall just moments before Abelas fell back into one. Zahirana weakly joined him, taking in the enormity that was Skyhold. It was like an ancient elven ruin but with a little less... "ruin". The walls and towers stood strong and high and the keep before them was a great and magnificent hall atop a set of grand stairs. They were in the large courtyard, outside of the building that was no doubt for the wounded, near the loud ruckus of a tavern.

Suledin and Atisha walked away, speaking of herbs and the need for more supplies. Abelas took that chance to grab hold of Zahirana's chair, pulling it closer against his own. He gave a heavy sigh, pressing his head back and his eyes closed, his shoulder against hers.

She shook her head, analyzing his strange behavior. "You aren't even strong enough to be out here right now."

He hushed a long "sh" at her. "Be silent, lethallan."

She grumbled a soft, "Should have stayed in bed."

"Should have stayed quiet like I told you." His words were stern and bitter but there was a smile at the edge of his lips, barely noticeable if one wasn't looking for it.

She hid her crooked smug smile, one corner reaching high up on her face, shocked that he remembered part of their conversation from the cave. She stared out towards the keep, the statues carved on either side of the door, the Dalish banners hanging out front. It was peaceful, despite the bustle of recruits, the chatter of diplomats, the music from the tavern.


	9. Chapter 9

She stood in the small grassy yard next to the stables, a bow clutched tightly in her hand. Zahirana was stubborn, probably more than she liked to be. Her whole life she had been a hunter for the clan. She wasn't going to give up using a bow. She borrowed Suledin's, with permission, of course. It took a lot of coaxing but she managed to pry it from his side.

It was well crafted, better than any craftsmanship she had ever seen. The grip was wrapped in soft rabbit's fur and etched along its body were symbols that were likely meaningful to an Elvhen.

She lifted the bow, her left arm stiff, her right hand coming back to the corner of her mouth. Typically, before the wound, it was her left hand that drew back the string. But her left arm was still too weak and she wasn't sure if it would ever be strong again. But this way, her left arm could lock in place and her right arm could draw back her arrow.

She released, feeling it slap against her wrist guard, her arm too straight. The arrow flew further this time but it missed its target entirely. She gripped her arm, squeezing the muscle, as if somehow it would help.

Blackwall, a great bear of a man, chuckled a rich sound that had to have echoed through most of the courtyard. "You been at it for hours."

Her grip on the bow tightened. She stared down her target, a mass of straw and hay, the arrow protruding from the hard earth.

"Shoulder wound?" He made his way over, a rag in his hand as he wiped away the dirt and sweat. "Seen many of those in my time. Used to watch soldiers like you burn themselves out trying to get back in shape."

"Any advice would be welcomed." She forced down her guard. It wasn't very often that she met humans. They were certainly never very eager to meet her. But this man, he had saved Ableas. He followed the orders of an elf. Surely, he could be trusted.

"You'll need to build up that muscle. I'd suggest push-ups."

She cocked her head. "Push... ups..."

"A training exercise." He grumbled, lowering himself onto the ground awkwardly in a plank position. He did a few as example and a lighthearted laugh echoed behind her, towards the bustle of the marketplace.

It was the mage from before, handsome and dark skinned, a black mustache and goatee. He wore stylish white robes, unabashed about exposing a bit of his chest. "I certainly wasn't expecting to see this, the lummox mating dance. Displays of affection through macho bravado."

Inquisitor Lavellan walked beside him, shaking her head mildly amused. Abelas was with them and he of course didn't look pleased. They had gone off to the war table earlier that day to discuss matters with her advisors. The whole clan had been uncertain about the matter. Something about a well was upsetting them. Zahirana didn't bother to ask questions. She knew she'd either get confusing answers or lies to cover up answers.

"And our stables..." Lavellan said it with little enthusiasm, a slight ashamed smile on her face. "With Blackwall, the man who brought you to Skyhold."

Blackwall lifted up off of the ground, redness dressing his cheeks, either from exercise or mortification. "I wasn't flirting with her, Dorian. I was offering a bit of help."

Dorian threw Zahirana a wink. "I'm not fluent in Bear but I am pretty sure that means 'flirting'."

"Sod it," cursed Blackwall, throwing the rag into the dirt. "I'm surprised you're even out here. The wind might mess up your hair."

Dorian chuckled.

"Alright, both of you, take your spat to the tavern." Once the teasing warrior and mage were wandering off, the Inquisitor walked to Zahirana, flashing a wide smile. "It is good to see you well, lethallan."

"Ma serannas." She gave a slight bow of her head. "You are Dalish?"

Her smile weakened. "I am. Or so, I think I am. The word’s become complicated."

She mumbled, "The word Elvhen certainly holds new meaning." She let her eyes wander to Abelas who was standing before her a little perturbed about something, like always.

The Inquisitor tried to force a smile again, but Zahirana saw the truth of it. "I have matters to deal with but I shall see you both at the feast this evening." She lifted her hand, a meager wave goodbye as she hurried up a large set of steps towards a tower.

"Again, you are using a bow." Abelas walked past her towards a grassy area away from the stables and its well. He motioned her to follow. "Your magic has potential."

She sat down across from him, setting the bow behind her. "I like using a bow."

"Until the moment you can use it again, rely on your magic." He took her hands, far more gentle than she expected, and placed them palm up. "Magic flows in all of us. Only some can wield it. When you heal, use the magic that lies in the other." He placed his hand down on top of hers, letting the static of magic crackle between their skin.

"That doesn't make sense. If I heal you, I shouldn't waste your energy."

"It is not wasting. It is guiding." He closed his eyes and breathed deep. "Meditate, lethallan. Seek out the fragments of my energy. Use it to your will."

She shook her head but did as he asked. She 'meditated' but she didn't seek out his magic. She wasn't even certain how that worked or what she would find there. "Now what?"

Abelas sighed, pulling away from her. "Perhaps this approach will get your attention."

She heard him unsheath a knife, her eyes flying open just as he ran the blade deep across his hand. "Abelas!" Her stomach churned at the amount of blood pooling in his grasp. "What were you thinking?"

His expression was unchanged, the professional expert of masking his emotions. "My blood, like all blood, contains specks of magic. Use those fragments to heal my wound."

Zahirana gave a breathy laugh. "Blood magic," she whispered. "That's forbidden."

"Healing magic," he corrected amiably.

She ignored the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She placed a hand beneath his and hovered her other hand above the wound. She drew upon the energy that lied there in the dark liquid, manipulating it into stitching the flesh back together, until the wound was no more.

She ran her fingers over his palm, seeing that her magic had indeed healed him. It wasn't her first time healing but it was odd thinking that she had done it with blood magic, a practice avoided in her clan. Keeper Athenaya never spoke of it as evil but it was never exactly approved of.

"Will you trust me now?"

Zahirana looked up, letting go of his hand. He was closer than she realized, his expression soft albeit sad. It was a hidden sorrow but she knew what to look for now. The corners of his eyes held it, the corners of his mouth ever so gently frowning in agony. The light of the day reflected brilliantly against the copper of his eyes.

She looked away, steadying her breath. "Yes." She trusted him too much, almost died for him, and it frightened her that she would risk her life for him again if she had to.

"We will train again later." He stood up, facing the marketplace where Atisha was making her way over, her steps soft in an attempt to be stealthy. Abelas had felt her energy before he saw her.

Atisha held a sheepish look, disappointed that she had interrupted. "I heard that someone had seen you walking around. How did the talk with the Inquisitor go?"

"We will get our mounts." His gaze trailed away. "However, according to her advisors, it will take time to gather such a force."

"You think they are stalling?"

Zahirana was on her feet, dusting off the dirt and grass from her clothes, bow clutched in her hands, the familiar weight a great comfort. "Why would they do that?"

Abelas folded his arms over his chest, shifting his weight on his other leg. "The Inquisition may wish to learn where we are going and what we are seeking there. They may even try to convince us to let them join."

Atisha held her hands before her, her hood hiding her expression as she stared downward into the dirt. "We shall wait then. I do hope these mounts of theirs do not take too long."

Zahirana shuddered, glancing about the large fort. "I agree. I'm ready to get back out into the woods. These walls are suffocating." The cave was a different story, but she had enough of walls and ceilings. All of the rooms inside were lit by candles but it still seemed too dark and it made sleeping nearly impossible.

"Let us speak with Enasalin. He will wish to know what our plan is." Abelas started off towards the markets before glancing back at Zahirana. "You are not joining us?"

She stood dumbfounded, mouth ready to speak but uncertain. "Me?"

"You know this modern world best."

Atisha smirked, slowly strolling ahead.

She gave a slow nod, her feet having a mind of their own. She followed Abelas through the maze of Skyhold and its many steps. She still wasn't certain she was of any great value to the meeting that would occur but she guessed her advice had been helpful thus far.

The clan had set up camp in Skyhold's garden, strangely enough, near a room devoted to their goddess Andraste. Actually, Zahirana didn't really know who she was. She seemed like a goddess. They worshiped her like one, her statue standing in some form of a shrine and she'd heard the shemlen call upon her name a few times.

Tucker was called to the meeting with his son, Soris, the well built elf who had spoken to Zahirana at the village about the dangers of revolting. Enasalin stood across from them, speaking about sleeping arrangements and the lack of tents.

"Abelas," the old Elvhen greeted him before throwing back his hood, revealing the dark blonde tresses of his hair. The sides of his head were shaved and what wasn't shaved was tied back by leather cords.

"We will leave once our mounts have arrived. It may take some time, according to the Inquisition. I have also spoken to them about you." He directed his attention to Tucker now, the city elf shifting uneasily beneath his gaze. "They are willing to take any of you in as equals, if you so wish to stay."

Tucker gave a nod of his head.

"To be their servants," spat Soris, his brows drawn over dark blue eyes. He was taller than the other city elves, scarred from all of the hard labor, and he seemed to be the person they went to for help.

"We will be safer here," Tucker intervened. "Your journey is too dangerous for us."

"The Inquisition is led by an elf." Zahirana placed a hand on Tucker's shoulder but turning her attention to his hot tempered son. "I'm certain they will treat you as equals. The Inquisitor will see to it."

"Those who come with us will be welcomed," Atisha added, her words soft and gentle, grandmotherly.

Soris gave a harsh retort, "I'm not staying here. I've had enough with shems."

"Then that matter is settled." Abelas stood with his back stiff, arms folded neatly across his chest. He looked annoyed but she knew that this was just Abelas. He was actually rather calm. "Let the others know that we will remain for some time. I will look into getting us more tents and supplies."

"There you are." Suledin trudged his way over. "I will be needing my bow back. I'm heading out to hunt for the Inquisition. Apparently, they could use some help keeping everyone well fed." He took the bow when she reluctantly offered it. "You can join me, of course."

"She has training," Abelas interceded, his voice calmer than typical, but oddly rough.

Suledin gave a wry nod and smile, shifting his attention between them. "Some other time then." He lifted his bow, waving, before turning around and trotting through camp.

Zahirana raised a brow at him, a snarky half smile. "Training, again."

"That's what I'd like to know," Atisha teased, backing away with a smirk, and heading towards Enasalin to exchange words.

Abelas lifted a hand, motioning her to walk back into camp with him. "We still have much to discuss. That is why we will need a quiet spot away from Skyhold." He led her through a door, into the great hall with its many tables and a large throne at its end. Tapestries hung upon the walls, symbols of the Inquisition decorating their surface.

"I have a migraine and... I'm sleepy." She quickened her pace to walk by his side as they headed down the steps to the courtyard. "I haven't really slept well since coming here."

Abelas rolled his eyes to glare down at her. "You are coming with me. You may sleep when we return."

"Or we can sleep now?" She smiled widely, hoping for the best but he only gave a scowl as his reply. This, oddly enough, made her chuckle even more.


	10. Chapter 10

Zahirana followed Abelas along the enormous stretch of bridge to Skyhold, reaching far across a great chasm. They ventured out into the mountains with its deep snow and rocky landscaping, the winds hindered by the tall cliffs. She was grateful for the fur lining her armor and boots. It was strange wearing something over her feet, a constricting binding against her toes. But she would take constricting over being toeless any day.

Abelas led her down a gentle slope until they reached what looked like an old outpost, worn from the weather and the wind. "The Inquisitor told me of this place when I mentioned my dislike for Skyhold." He walked up the wooden steps, groaning beneath his weight. "The Inquisition scouts use it on rare occasions."

"It's certainly... homey." She followed him through the doorway into the abandoned shack. The ceiling was hardly standing, giant holes letting a few flakes of snow in. The outpost was empty, planks of wood missing from the floor, but it wasn't cluttered of any furniture. It wasn't in the worst of conditions.

Abelas peered up through the ceiling to the blue hazy sky. "It will give us some peace and quiet. You were in the cave with me. You understand the dislike for..."

"All of those walls," she agreed. She sat down on the floor, pulling in her knees to her chest, trying not to shiver at the discomforting idea of the cave. "How exactly will this place help with training?"

He sat down across from her, rather stiffly. "Meditation. The better you understand yourself, the greater chance you have at understanding your magic."

Meditation, she wanted to mutter. She scooted away, pointing her feet to the door and fell back until she could gaze out at the sky. She would have guessed at night the stars were great sparks of fire, a glamorous view against the darkness.

Abelas awkwardly joined her, his movements were not as graceful and elegant as they usually were. His words were a soft murmur, coarsely stumbling off the tip of his tongue, "Suledin has an interest in you."

She rolled her eyes over to him, trying not to draw her brows together. "Interest?"

He hesitated, almost choking on the word, brashly spitting, "Romantically."

She laughed as a smile covered her whole face. "What gave you that idea? There's been no exchange of gifts or... There hasn't been anything."

"Today he gave you his bow and asked you to go hunting with him." Abelas lifted his knee, throwing hands back behind his head in an attempt to look relaxed. His movements were stony and his muscles were still stiff with tension.

A brow rose. "He didn't **give** me his bow. I asked to borrow it."

"The two of you, hunting alone..."

She chuckled. “I’ve hunted alone with people.”

He remained staring up through the ceiling. "Yesterday in camp, he brought you food from the kitchen as a gift."

"He gave food to Atisha. Is he interested in her?"

He gave a breathy laugh. "Atisha? She prefers women."

"Oh." Zahirana slowly let a half smile slide up the corner of her lip. She sat up, feeling suddenly confident and cocky in her assumption. "Are you envious of Suledin? Is that why you’re telling me all of this?"

"I am not envious." He sat up as well, focusing on the doorway ahead instead of her. "I was merely bringing it to your attention."

She leaned closer. "You are envious. Why else would you notice such stupid things." And when she saw him nervously look away, she didn't stop herself. It didn't cross her mind to stop herself. She only thought about the soft pink against his cheeks, the roundness of his lips, the gold flecks of his eyes, his sleek form stretched out across the floor from earlier... She leaned in, fingers brushing across his jaw line, until her lips pressed against his.

Zahirana pulled away in an instant. He had made no movements in her brief kiss and she knew why. She had forgotten that he had made that clear line in the sand. She had crossed it once more thinking for some reason he felt the same, that for some reason there was a spark between them.

She went to stand, muttering a flustered, "Ir abelas, lethallin."

He grabbed the crook of her arm, pulled her into his embracing grasp, and kissed her hard, forcing her mouth open. He pressed her back against the floor, breathless and desperate, his kiss insatiable, deep and tugging at her own lips. A hand slid down her thigh, up into the bend of her knee, moving himself until he fit against her, until he forced a stuttering moan from her.

He lifted his lips from hers, hovering above her with uncertainty, his other hand brushing up across her neck. He slightly shook his head, conflicted about his decision. "Ir abelas. I am the one who should apologize." He lifted himself off of the floor and turned to stand in the doorway. "We can not do this." He gripped the wall beside him, conflicted again, wavering in his steps. "I will meet you back at Skyhold."

Zahirana cursed herself. And then cursed him. She knew he felt something, he had to feel something. Why else would he have brought up Suledin's actions. Did he expect her to take an interest in Suledin, to return his feelings? If so, why did he seem so jealous? Why was his kiss so enthusiastic?

She waited some time before heading back to Skyhold. Enough time to put space between her and Abelas. She wasn't planning on avoiding him she just convinced herself that she needed a little time away from him. Luckily, her whole journey back was quiet, it was peaceful, washing away the dirt of the human city.

The sun was beginning to set on the horizon, casting out a rainbow of pastels across the clouds that had been a dreary gray. She could feel the air turning chilly with the loss of the sun. She wasn't used to the cold, it was too bitter to bear, and she missed the warmth of the jungle, the variety of life that flourished there.

"You'll be joining us in the main hall, I hope." The Commander of the Inquisition, Cullen, if she remembered correctly, walked over with a hand lounging across the hilt of his sword. "Apparently, it's supposed to be quite the gathering." He sounded rather displeased with that idea.

"Come on, Curly." Varric, who was apparently a storyteller, motioned the commander along, each of his words tangled in jest. "You're starting to lose your tan."

"I don't have a tan," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I do, however, have a lot of reports to file."

Varric shook his head, a very sly smile on his face. "Your precious reports will be there in the morning, Curly. Tonight's feast, however, won't be. You're going to regret missing out on good food, trust me."

Zahirana tried not to chuckle as she walked on ahead, their steps lagging behind her, mostly due to the commander. Apparently, he disliked people just as much as she did. She didn't enjoy the loud bustle of Skyhold. She missed the calm solitude of her home. Perhaps, she would return there, after all. Staying with Abelas and his 'clan' truly seemed unnecessary. What would she even find out there in the western part of Orlais at the behest of the Dread Wolf? Surely, something that would lead to more questions and few answers. If any answers at all. But she had grown fond of Atisha's gentle nature, Suledin's humor...

Vir Adahlen, she could hear Hahren Pavel lecturing her. We are stronger when we are together. She could survive on her own. She could thrive in the vast, flourishing wilderness. But she wouldn't receive the socializing that a clan provided. The joy of being with her kin. The comfort of having the support of friends and family. No other clan could ever offer what her clan had.

She never realized how much she loved them until... She closed her eyes, letting the feeling slink away as she focused on something else, anything else. The large gathering, that would be a distraction.

It was warm inside of Skyhold's main hall. The fire was roaring, the people were shouting, their voices carrying over the immense crowd, and food overflowed the spaces of the tables that lined either side. She could hear the loud rumbling laugh of Blackwall over the crowd. Dorian was standing in a chair, reciting something with zeal. There were others she didn't recognize, ones she hadn't met quite yet. She was bound to meet them soon, it would be hard not to.

Atisha snagged her hand before Zahirana had any time to fully examine her surroundings. They were weaving their way through the bustle towards a table with Abelas, Suledin, and Enasalin. Inquisitor Lavellan was just making her way over, stopping to speak with each person along the way. She sat down at the end of the table, adjacent to Abelas, and began speaking of an estimated date for when the mounts would arrive.

Atisha and Suledin spoke too loudly for her to hear very much. She tried to pay attention whenever Atisha would bring her into the conversation but Zahirana was tired. The energy of the party was draining rather than exciting. She pushed the food on her plate around and was glad when the night was drawing to an end.

"Upstairs there are plenty of rooms available," Lavellan informed, pointing towards the door a little ways from the table. "You can stay there until you leave, or until we can get you enough tents. They're reserved for guests anyway."

Abelas gave a stiff nod, lips pressed into a permanent frown. "Ma serannas. We are grateful for the assistance."

"This will be a treat," interjected Atisha, before pushing Zahirana's shoulder. "We could see how these shemlen sleep."

"Then make jokes about it later," agreed Suledin.

Zahirana plastered on a smile. "I think I'll go up there. I'm feeling a little unwell."

Atisha's brows drew together, her instincts as a healer flaring. "Are you feverish?" She placed the back of her hand against her forehead but Zahirana stood up in avoidance. The healer was disgruntled, pursing her lips.

"You certainly look unwell," Suledin scolded. "You should let Atisha help."

She forced a laugh, making it sound as genuine as possible. "I'm only tired, really. These past few days have been draining."

She didn't look convinced but she gave a weak smile. "I have herbs if you need them."

"I can show you there," Lavellan quickly stood.

Zahirana gave a nod of her head to both Atisha and Suledin, a weak one to Abelas, then hurried on her way. She didn't want anyone else to hound her with questions or worried looks. She needed sleep and Lavellan wasn't suspicious. If she was, she didn't make it the least bit obvious.

"Your clan," Zahirana inquired softly as they headed up a set of stairs, "where are they now?"

The Inquisitor folded her hands behind her back, each step patient and soft. "They are in the Free Marches. I hope to visit them... Soon, perhaps."

Zahirana heard the brutish pain of homesickness. "You must miss them."

"Greatly." She smiled, this one honest and true. "I have wonderful support from friends here. This place has become my home." She stepped outside, onto a terrace overlooking the encampment of Elvhen and city elves. The walkway was lined with doors and she took the last one as her own, it was back in the far corner hopefully away from the noises of people.

Zahirana gave a bow of her head. "Ma serannas, lethallan."

"It took me weeks to sleep peacefully here." She lightly crossed her arms, perhaps warming her fingers against the cold. "I found ways to cope. Perhaps, you will do the same."

“Thank you again.” She gave a stiff nod.

“Sleep well.” She walked off, sadness in the corners of her expression. It was subtle, almost the same hidden sorrow that Abelas held.

She couldn't sleep. The bed was comfortable, softer than any she'd ever slept on. But it wasn't her aravel, and it wasn't the grand open space of the wilds. She couldn't  lean her head on the edge of her bed and see the sparks of starlight and she couldn't feel the brush of wind or hear the rattle of the leaves. Her senses felt too hindered, her instincts all but diminished.

She threw off the covers, irritated and tired. She had too much to think about and perhaps that was also a reason she couldn't sleep. Abelas, his touch from earlier and the fire behind his kiss, left her a shambled mess. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back with pent up fury. She wasn't angry, not necessarily. She was... oddly disappointed.

She stepped outside onto the terrace overlooking the garden. In the corner of her eye she saw a figure and after doing a double take she swallowed her rapid pulse. Abelas stood slumped over, his hands pressed firmly into the stone banister, a disheveled gargoyle.

He barely glanced at her "You could not sleep as well?"

She folded her arms tightly across her chest, her fingers clenching firmly onto her sleeves. "It's not home..." She walked over, preparing her speech, preparing to finally confront him about his kisses. "I wanted to talk to you about--"

He backed away from the banister while she spoke, lifted a necklace out from his armor, above his head, and put it around her neck. He turned away, looking back down at the tents littering the garden below, as if nothing had happened between them.

"I... was trying to say something..." She stood with shock, looking down at the object. "What is this?"

"A pendant carved from dragon's bone." He didn't bother looking at her as she lifted the item to view it. "It is a meaningless gift, shared among...clan members."

She shook her head. "I wanted to talk." Zahirana finally refocused. She stepped towards him, leaning her back against the banister to face him dead on. "You can't keep doing this. This thing, where we kiss and you run off."

Abelas backed away, his expression hardening just as he had trained himself. "You are correct, we can not. I am their leader. I am their foundation." He pointed at them down there, mounting all his feelings into the gesture. "I can not afford to have distractions. I can not risk their lives on a selfish desire. We... This can not happen."

She gripped the rough stone behind her, trying to focus on it rather than the sweep of emotions that hit her. "Perhaps... It would be best if I stayed here at Skyhold. The Inquisitor might be able to point me towards her clan."

His mouth opened, dumbfounded to seek out the words that he needed, but then he closed it. He reorganized his thoughts and feelings, putting the priorities he needed first, his people. "That... would be best for both of us." He averted his attention, hiding his face in a desperate plea that she wouldn't see the pain there. It was becoming harder to mask his feelings around her. "Good night, lethallan." He sauntered off, back behind his bedroom door, closing it gently.

Zahirana bolted over, sliding her back down the stone, her stomach fluttering and her heart galloping inside of her. This was best for both of them, she knew this. It would be painful to follow him, to be in the same clan, to have him close but distant. She swallowed down a breath of air, holding it in hopes to regain composure, slowly releasing it. How was he able to have such power over her? Why did he affect her this way?

She couldn't stay in Skyhold, behind the tall foreboding walls, among the constant noise. She needed to run wild, clear her mind like she used to, just like the first time she changed her form into a wolf. It was her way of composing herself. In the morning she would return, after exhausting away all her anxiety, after leaving all her fears behind her.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenedhis Lasa: Dalish curse

Zahirana had ran through the night and into the early morning. She returned to Skyhold with blissful glee, each step bouncier than the next. Her problems weren't solved but she felt lighter than before, somehow renewed and cleansed by her magic. Becoming the wolf and shedding its fur was baptismal.

She had been smart enough to undress before shapeshifting, as cold as that had been and as awkward as it was standing naked out in a snowy valley. It was better than returning as a wolf, changing back, and hiding her nudity while trying to open her bedroom door. That would have been a sight for the Inquisition to see, and any unlucky Elvhen who were waltzing by.

Each breath she took down was as refreshing as mint tea, tingling and cooling her throat and lungs. She stepped through the arching entrance of the massive stronghold. It was a few hours before noon, the sun beaming high in a cloudless blue sky. Today felt exhilarating even with her lack of sleep. She felt like she could curl up anywhere in Skyhold and sleep the day away, pleased as a cat in sunlight. Creators forbid, she could probably sleep through the shouts of the market.

Atisha ran forward her hood pulled back to reveal the thick curls of her hair. She was breathless and her face was twisted with distraught. "Where have you been?"

Zahirana felt her joy waver but only for a brisk moment. She was even able to let a smile run free. "I went to get some air… Are you alright?"

She sighed heavily, shaking her head with apprehension, clenching her fingers over her stomach. "We thought the worse. Abelas was planning to go looking for you. He's with the Inquisitor now, requesting a search party."

She laughed, letting it shake through her entire core. That was the last thing she expected to hear upon her return to Skyhold. "We better go settle some fears then." She linked her arm with Atisha, grateful for the comfort that she always offered time after time, her presence a warm spring wind, reminding her of home.

They were making their way through the courtyard just as Abelas reached the bottom of the stairs. Emotions swept over him, varying from relief, anger, and speechlessness. His words were jumbled, his glances swaying from her to the courtyard, his thoughts still muddled together.

He finally settled on anger, shouting, "Did you think this was a game? A humorous jest?"

Zahirana slowly unlinked her arm, shaking her head, laughing through her initial shock. "Game? What are you talking about?"

"Abelas," scolded Atisha, her voice a low hiss.

He unfurled his fingers, spreading them out as his anger took hold, his arms rising. He stood before her, towering and pacing in place. "You disappeared and told no one where you were going. You can not just wander off."

Her smile was gone. She was retaliating against his fury. She was not his concern anymore. She was not of his people. She was going to leave soon, anyway. "I am Dalish. I can wander off whenever I please!"

"Typical selfishness." He stopped his pacing, placing most of his weight down on one leg, glowering at her with his usual distaste. “It was wrong to expect more from someone not of the Elvhen.”

She clenched her fists, sparks of magic seering the tips of her fingers. "Fenedhis lasa!" Zahirana stormed off, feeling every bit of her magic surge. She was too tired, too angry, and far too wounded to handle his rash behavior. First she wasn't his concern and suddenly she was. She bolted down a set of stairs hearing Atisha's harsh comments to Abelas, "Are you trying to get rid of her?"

Zahirana didn't stay to hear the rest. She needed to be away from him, far away from anyone, just until she could smooth out her crackling anger, electricity licking her skin. She found herself back to the small archery range she had set up the day before, feeling sparks of lightning charge through her swelling emotions. She couldn't decide if she was furious or sorrowful but it was easier to focus on her fury.

"Zahirana," Blackwall weakly greeted as she passed by. “Everything alright?”

"Men!" She threw a bolt of lightening, pulling apart its core until it ruptured inside of the bundle of hay. She let the magic ride across her, pulsing through her bloodstream.

"Perhaps, you should go and speak with her, Cassandra." Blackwall scratched his chin, eyeing the elf with uncertainty. "It's obvious she's mad at… men. I'd be no help."

"Ugh." She threw her weight to one side, cocking her head at him. "Why is it no one can ever handle their own problems?" She sashayed over, a sword at her side, and scars nobly placed upon her cheeks. She was a warrior and her stance certainly showed as much.

Zahirana breathed deep, oppressing her magic with difficulty. "I'm fine. Really."

"Blackwall was concerned you were... upset."

"Upset," she mumbled with hesitant laughter. "Why does everyone think I need help? I was taking care of myself just fine. I was only wounded that one time, one time. Yes, I was bleeding out but before that I survived on my own with little difficulty. He was blind, blind in a cave with me, and I took care of him. But suddenly, I'm so incapable of walking around outside of Skyhold without a chaperone."

Cassandra made a confident huff, obviously agreeing with her. "They see us as dolls that they can dress up, incapable of fighting our own battle." She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest, glancing over her shoulder at a sheepish Blackwall. He was busying himself with the stable's sign, checking out its fine details, dusting it off.

Zahirana felt her hatred surge, her magic seering her fingers. She threw another barrage of energy towards the hay bale. "He was the one who didn't want any distractions, didn't want a relationship." She gripped the edge of the well, rubbing her hands against the coarse stone. It wasn't like they had a relationship to begin or end. There had only been a few awkward instances between them, a few sudden kisses that ended abruptly. She couldn't understand why she was so consumed with those few brief moments. Those stupid moments that she tangled herself with.

"Lethallan." Atisha sprinted over to her. "Are you alright? Let me explain."

She shook her head, turning her eyes to Cassandra then Atisha. "I'm alright. I don't want your explanation. I already know what you're going to say." She pushed off of the well, stood tall and as dignified as she could make herself. "I think I just need to walk this off."

Atisha captured her hand just as she was leaving, her eyes pleading.

"Walking never helps," Cassandra spat. "I know exactly what you need." She flicked her fingers, motioning them to follow her. They made their way across Skyhold, stopping outside of the medical building where wooden practice dummies were set up. They looked worn, scarred and shattered by blades.

"Feeding my anger," mused Zahirana, uncertain she could use a sword. She never needed one before. Her bow and arrows had always been enough. Small blades were easy just in case something dangerous got too close.

Cassandra unsheathed her blade, firmly placing it into the elf's hand. "We are not children to be scoffed at or mocked. Use your anger until you have none left."

"This will not solve anything," Atisha's gentle voice finally spoke up. Her brows strained, fingers fumbling in front of her. "But I suppose if it helps you heal a wound..."

She held the full weight of the sword, heavier than it looked. In times of fear or stress, she would always run, abandoning the situation to seek comfort in solitude. It wasn't in her nature to argue, to get angry... But she gripped the sword tightly, approaching the wooden dummy as if it were a true opponent. She shouted, putting all of her frustration behind it, her magic licking electricity across metal, before swinging it hard into the side of the pole.

A stifling laugh came from Cassandra, the laugh becoming whole hearted.

Her bones and muscles ached from the blow, probably more damage done to herself than the dummy. Her frustration melted into a wide smile as she dropped the heavy longsword. She certainly felt… emotionally better.

Cassandra spoke with amusement, "You only went and dented it."

Atisha placed a hand on her back, bending over to check her expression. "Foolish child," she cooed, loving as always.

She tried to smile, for Atisha's sake. "I need a nap. I'll be okay now."

Atisha shook her head but she took a few steps back respecting her space. "We are here if you need us, lethallan."

Her whole upper body was still vibrating from the blow as she strolled her way towards the steps that led to the battlements. She found an empty tower, somewhere no one would look for her, and climbed up the ladder to the second floor. She rolled back against the creaking wood with a sigh, the sound reminding her of the aravels.

She pulled the dragon bone pendant from underneath her scarf and held it up to admire the intricate carvings. She wasn't angry at him per se. She knew he had been concerned about her, that he planned to look for her when he found her missing. She was angry that he had the gaul to yell at her like a child, to treat her like she was incapable of accepting his terms and that he still considered her less than Elvhen.

A shemlen.

She clenched it in her hands before letting it fall down against her chest. She would apologize to him, and perhaps Blackwall. She never wanted anyone to see her like that. Poor Blackwall probably thought she was a monster. She turned over onto her side, all of her muscles seeping into sleep. It wasn’t a deep sleep, a simple soft one, tormented by her worries.

It was hours before she finally woke, the loud laughter of passing guards pulled her from a faded dream. She sat up, stuffing the necklace back behind her scarf, and jumped down onto the first floor of the tower. It was still daylight, a beam of sunlight glittering through the thin window. She strolled across the battlements, admiring the view that was Skyhold.

She could see Atisha speaking with one of the herbalists and decided to make her way over there. She had a great deal of apologizing to do and Zahirana was never truly good at talking about emotions. She was better skilled at avoiding them, avoiding a great deal of things really.

"Lethallan." Atisha was a soft spring wind, gentle and sweet. She had her storms, of course, but for the most part she was all flowers and sunshine. "You look like you're doing much better than before."

Zahirana lowered her gaze as she pressed her bottom lip between her teeth. "Ir abelas. My actions were..."

"I was not offended." She even managed a giggle. "I do fear, Blackwall may avoid you for some time."

Zahirana folded her arms lightly, a delicate smile playing against her lips. "I suppose it's him I should be apologizing to most, then."

Atisha released a breath of air, suddenly pressed with sadness. "Abelas told me of your plan to leave us..." The healer linked arms with her, guiding her back towards the main hall. "Reconsider, lethallan. You can be our family. We can be a clan."

"It would be easier for me to leave." She fiddled with her scarf, tempted to touch the rough carvings etched into the dragon bone.

"Zahirana." Commander Cullen was descending the winding steps leading to the main hall. He rushed forward, once he reached her side he turned to walk with them. "The Inquisitor needs to see you inside."

She looked to Atisha and back to Cullen. "Me? Surely, you're mistaken."

The commander shook his head, nervously rubbing the back of his head. "It is... not easy to explain." He put out his hand, motioning her towards the steps before them. "It would be better if I showed you."

Zahirana hurried forward, leaving Atisha's side, her steps quickening the closer they got. The climb up the steps seemed longer than usual. She wasn't sure what she'd find at the end of them or why she of all people would be summoned.

Abelas stood at the entrance, a silent statue guarding his wayward post.

She cocked her head. "Abelas? What's going on?"

He lowered his gaze, words cowering upon his lips, breaths before he spoke. "At the end of the hall." When she stepped forward, he gently grabbed her wrist. There was so much he needed to say, so much he needed to confess to her, to do for her... But he let her go, letting her wrist slowly slip from his fingers. "This will be better for you."

Her brows knitted together, those words were ominous and yet he spoke them with such endearment. She wanted to apologize to him right there but the Inquisitor was motioning her forward. She saw the darkened outlines of the people with her. She stepped deeper into the keep, seeing past the gloomy darkness of candlelight. As she walked, as she grew closer, her steps quaked beneath her. Her knees buckled as their faces became clear, her suspicions were correct. She fell to the ground, gripping the tightness of her swollen heart.

"Da'assan!" He ran forward, sliding to his knees, and wrapped his arms around her, his arms pulling her up off of the ground.

She laughed through her tears and sobs. "Sarlen," she whispered the name, feeling the comfort of it as she spoke it.

"Ma da'len." Keeper Athenaya walked with grace, her steps ghostly across the long hall. She reached down to comfort the child but Zahirana was swayed to her feet with joy, embracing the woman who raised her, the only mother she ever knew.

"Keeper Athenaya." She pulled the both of them into a hug, desperate to hold onto them for as long as she could, hot tears rolling down her cheeks. "I thought you all died."

"Some of us did, da'len." The Keeper pulled from the hug, placing a gentle hand against her cheek. "But I am pleased to see that you made it."

Sarlen sneered as he wriggled free. "I still need air to breathe."

Zahirana let her guilt consume her, her arms gripping at her sides. "The clan..." She shook her head, her frown swallowing her whole. "Those I was supposed to protect... I left them to distract some bandits." She couldn't look them in the eye, couldn't dare see the grief that would clutch them. "By the time I made it back to them..."

Keeper Athenaya pulled away. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands against her face for a moment. "This pains me greatly, da'len."

"Zahirana is modest," Atisha interrupted. "She had been wounded when we found her, by the bandits. She sought out her clan against my wishes."

The Keeper dropped her hands, face filled with the grief of her people, of all of her ancestors. "We have suffered much but we are still strong. You have returned to us. The clan will, however, judge your actions as they must."

Zahirana nodded, bowing her head low. "I will take whatever punishment they give me."

"What?" Sarlen stepped forward, placing himself between Athenaya and her. "I was there as well. You didn't judge me."

"Zahirana no doubt convinced you," Athenaya argued, the bitterness strong despite the age in her voice. "She is my First, protector of the clan. She chose to endanger the clan with her actions. Many of our best died. It is the clan who will decide her fate."

"Sarlen," she soothed, placing a hand against her best friend's shoulder. “It’s alright. It’s just and fair.”

"I am afraid that will not happen." Abelas stood proud, arms folded across his chest, a hand furled before his chin. "In accordance to our laws, her life belongs to me and my clan."

Keeper Athenaya lifted her chin, scouring over the elf. "I have heard of no such law."

His expression remained unchanged even under her scrutiny. "These are old laws, passed down from Arlathan. My clan saved her. We spent innumerable supplies upon her and risked the life of our healer for her. She owes us."

Zahirana let a brow rise. She shook her head at Atisha, puzzled.

Keeper Athenaya lowered her gaze. She gripped the winding staff, placing it before her as if somehow it held all the answers to all of her questions. "The clan will excommunicate you, da'len."

"Keeper!" Sarlen was furious, his steps shifting him forward.

“That is the best I can do.”

Sarlen shook his head, huffing. "I'm staying with her."

Zahirana gripped his arm, firm, determined. "Sarlen. The clan needs you."

His brows strained under the weight of his grief. "I will not leave you, lethallan."

Keeper Athenaya gave an exhausted sigh. "We lose two more." She looked at them, a mother sending off her children, a soft hand against their cheek. "Creators watch over you and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent." She turned from them, her steps still ghostly but somehow heavier.

Zahirana looked at him, putting seriousness behind her words. "Sarlen, you will never see them again."

"You are my family, da'assan. We will not separate again." He smiled, childish and silly. "Let's celebrate. Come on! I saw a tavern."

A tavern, she reveled, of course. It was probably the only thing he saw.

He grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hall.

She looked back, her eyes swaying from Atisha to Abelas. She saw his expression, memorized it. He looked pained, his carefully placed mask fracturing, every worried emotion carving itself into his features.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: A bit of alcohol consumption in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma sa'lath: my one love  
> Shemlens: quick children/insult

Sarlen was the loudest of them all, his laugh bellowed even over Iron Bull, the large broad shouldered Qunari at the end of the table. He slammed his flagon down hard against the table, letting some of it slosh around. He tenderly hooked his arm around Zahirana and like an older brother messed up her hair with a frenzied hand. He was drunk, his words slurred and his eyes dancing across the room as he tipped over a little to talk to Blackwall across the table, muttering his words into one large sound.

Zahirana couldn't care less, both because she was undeniably happy to have her clanmate and because she had far more to drink than he did. They had been swapping stories with the companions of the Inquisition, hearing tales that she could hardly believe. But she had seen the Breach in the sky, the tear in the Beyond, and she had seen the monstrous Red Templars. Surely, all of it was true.

"Zahirana!" Sarlen shot straight up, lifting his drink. "We have to tell them about that time with the Chantry clerks."

Her cheeks were flushed, burning hot. She stood up, feet shaking beneath her but she somehow managed to climb onto the table using the shoulder of the elf next to her. Sera, a city elf who was probably the drunkest of them all, was giggling to herself about "tools".

"Right there, on the edge of the Emerald Graves." She had her hands out in front of her, thinking somehow it would steady her movements, but all it did was shaken her gaze. "We had just finished taking down a deer, blood was all over us. They came out of the brush, these stodgy young men, grumbling about apostates deserving their fates. They were horrified at the sight of us, bloodied and smirking. Sarlen just shouts--"

"Look, more blood for our ritual!" He of course couldn't pass up the chance to make the story all the more real.

Zahirana slowly sat down onto the table, her head spinning in the glee, but she couldn’t help but to be active during the telling of their story. "I told them we were blood mages! And if they didn't do everything we said, we would turn them into halla, cursed to pull our landships."

Sarlen placed his forehead against Dorian's shoulder next to him, giggling ever so slightly. "They actually believed us, the poor fools."

Her smile was wide, toothy and grinning like a child. "And all of the halla belonging to our clan were cursed into eternal servitude!"

Iron Bull let his laughter echo out across the tavern and over the strumming of music by the fireplace. "What did you convince them to do?"

Zahirana laughed, letting it shake her entire form as she gathered herself to tell the last bit of the tale. "We told them that in order to prevent the curse, they would have to run through town naked, leap into the fountain outside of the Chantry, and bathe in its waters."

"Andraste's fountain, with her standing in the middle of it!" clarified Sarlen, who was standing now, the story too much for him to bear. Luckily, Dorian was giving him much needed support.

"Those unlucky bastards!" Blackwall couldn't contain his laughter, slapping his hand into Iron Bull's shoulder. "Blessed Andraste. I bet she had quite the sight!"

“She had a sight alright,” Sarlen added, sneering down at Dorian. “We watched the whole thing from over the hill.”

"The scandal of it," Dorian cooed, leaning back in his chair with most of Sarlen's weight against him.

Zahirana got to her feet, lifting her empty flagon. "To all the trouble we caused the clan!"

"To Keeper Athenaya!" Sarlen staggered back into his seat. "Thank the Creators she never killed us for it."

She slid off the table, leaving behind the laughters of the group. She dropped off her metal mug by the barkeep, steps and movements swaying, and left the intense heat of the tavern for the cold wintry wind outside. She'd enjoyed herself to be sure but she was ready for her room and that soft squishy thing called a bed.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in a tavern. It wasn't their first time. Sarlen and her, of course, had snuck into one once. Their hoods drawn, their words mere mumblings so no one would hear their accents. She had drunk the liquid, spitting it back into her drink the moment it touched her tongue. Sarlen had coughed his back up, giving her a wry smile.

"To Keeper Athenaya," she muttered half-aware of her climb towards the guest rooms.

She stepped onto the balcony and saw him, standing like a statue again, glaring down over the encampment. He glanced over at her, his eyes sliding down her form as she staggered forward. His expression switched to concern, leaping to her side before she could hit the edge of the bannister.

"Abelas!" She patted his chest, the sleek cold armor gleaming a strange green under the light. "You, my friend, are an attractive... inconsiderate... assss."

"You are inebriated with… alcohol." He shook his head, pulling her arm around his neck with difficulty. She was squirmy, if not weak about it. "Let us get you to bed."

"Yes!" Her steps quickened, although not exactly forward. "Finally. I swear if you get up and leave in the middle of it again..."

He grumbled in Elvish, pulling her to the end of the walkway. "You are going to sleep, lethallan."

"That's no fun," she whispered, a laugh trickling. She maneuvered out of his grasp, ungracefully but conscious enough to get free. She was a well trained rogue, after all, even while drunk.

He caught her by the waist just before she could stumble back against the stone wall. “You are not in a condition for all of this.”

She leaned forward, inches from kissing him. “I am… in the best condition.”

He let his thumb slide across her cheekbone. “Perhaps when you are sober, ma sa’lath.”

Zahirana lowered her head, pressing the heat of her forehead down onto his armor, the smooth cold metal a refreshing comfort. “I’m holding you to that.”

He began to guide her steps towards her bedroom door. “If you even remember this conversation when you awaken.”

She sneered, a giggle behind her groan. "Did I mention you are an attractive ass?"

They staggered inside and he was strong enough to help her beneath the covers. She snagged hold of his wrist, her eyelids drooping over her gaze, and her words a breathy plea. He sighed, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, deciding what choice would be better… better for his people or better for him.

Tonight, he would be selfish. He would stay. He closed the bedroom door and found a spot next to her in bed. His movements were tense, uncertain, as he lied down next to her. She turned onto her side, pressing the side of her face against his arm, his armor making a poor pillow. He rolled his eyes, glaring at the ceiling in hopes for answers, as if Mythal had written them there.

He slowly removed the armor, convincing himself that it was to make sleep easier for the both of them. He sunk deep beneath the covers, letting her curl up against his side, her warmth bringing solace to his fears, his worries about the state of the Elvhen.

Sleep, he pleaded with himself, but after the cave it was difficult. The darkness, the blind helplessness… Her presence made it easier. She had been the one to guide him, to save him in his time of need. He owed her more than she knew, more than he would ever let her know.

~:~

Her skull felt as if she had fractured it in six places after a terrible brawl. It only hurt when she moved, when she opened her eyes, when she heard a sound… Sarlen. She blamed Sarlen and all of the flasks of beer they consumed last night. It was just last night, wasn’t it? Or was it a few days ago… It felt all so incredibly distant.

Sarlen, she thought again, grateful to have his name mean something more than just death. Her actions hadn’t completely destroyed everything she held dear. This, of course, didn’t excuse her actions. People had died because of her. She would never let herself forget that.

She sat up, feeling incredibly warm, warmer than she should. The after effects of alcohol, she assumed. Until her eyes caught sight of Abelas, sleeping peaceful next to her, in her bedroom, in her bed. She sucked down a breath of air, staggering from the bed and the entangled covers. She looked herself once over. Fully clothed… She had been so drunk… Had Abelas been drunk? She found it hard to believe he would ever sip anything quite so beneath him.

She had stood up too fast. On the verge of blacking out, she leaned a hand against the bed for support. Her head pounded harder than before, the blackness finally swimming away from her vision.

His voice was bitter, jolting her from her thoughts, “Nothing happened between us.”

“What did happen?” She eyed his peaceful contentment, his closed eyes, with weariness.

“You committed acts of debauchery all over Skyhold before being put under close guard by the Inquisitor.” He finally opened his eyes, turning his head to admire her. “I would be highly ashamed, if i were in your position.”

She nodded her head, her annoyance superseding all of her emotions. “Making jokes… Careful, I might tell the other Elvhen your true secret.”

Abelas ran fingers to push back the silky strands of his hair. “What secret would that be, if i may ask?”

Zahirana stood up, folded her arms over her chest. “You have emotions.”

He sat up, pulled a knee to his chest and draped his arm across it. The sheets pooled around his waist, a subtle tug of his lips, as he finally looked up at her. “They would never believe such a lie.”

She shook her head, containing her laugh as much as she could, forcing her smile to shrink but it was rebellious. “I… am way too hungover for this conversation.” She rubbed her fingers against her forehead, hoping it would massage the pain away, but of course, it didn't.

"Let me get my armor on and I will brew a remedy for it."

"Abelas," she joked, "don't tell me you were the partying type back in your day."

"Of course I was not." He turned away from her to grab his armor from the floor but she saw quite clearly the blush that flustered upon his cheeks.

She chuckled uncontrollably, hugging herself the moment her sides began to ache from the laughter. "This is scandalous. I'm going to have to ask Atisha what you were like back then. I bet she knows all your secrets."

He was on his feet, his armor strapped into place, rather quickly and with ease. He had practice, no doubt. "Atisha would never admit to anything. I know all of her darkest secrets just as much as she knows mine."

“Next, I’ll find out you’re ticklish.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

He huffed, turning his expression away from her. “I am not. Nor will I ever be.”

“Oh?” She took a challenging step forward.

Abelas took a step back, facing her with a determined stare.

She eyed him, letting her eyes trail across his broad shoulder, thin waist, and sleek thighs. She wondered where of all places he’d be ticklish most.

He shook his head. “Your agonizing hangover…”

"This gets better and better." Zahirana backed away, spinning and dancing her way out the door. There were very few instances Abelas let his guard down and she was pleased as ever over this one. She’d have to tickle him, when he least expected it. She’d have to get through all of that armor somehow. "I may just have to get drunk more often."

He took hold of her hand, tugging at her to stop mid-step. "I would prefer it if you did not stumble your way up stone steps."

Her smile dissipated but the flutter inside of her stomach remained. "I will take better care of myself."

"See that you do." He let her hand slide from his fingers, walking beside her now as they headed into the main hall of Skyhold on the upper floor. There was a bustling crowd of nobles down below, the warmth of the fireplace and the fire pits lining the walkway drawing their presence like moths.

"Has there been any word on when we leave?" Zahirana took lead as they reached the narrow staircase, soft torches gleaming orange against the impressionable bricks.

"None. I am certain of it now. The Inquisitor wishes for us to help her seek answers."

She threw a glance over her shoulder, stepping out into the whispers of nobles. "Answers to what exactly?"

Abelas followed her, heading across the walkway. The kitchens were far beneath Skyhold, near the ambassador's door. Before he had time reply, stepping passed groups of nobles, Sarlen approached him and the elf was quick. His fist was flung forward, his whole body thrown into the punch, splitting Abelas' lip and knocking him back a step.

"Ar tu na'lin emma mi. You took advantage of her last night while she was drunk!"

"Sarlen?" Zahirana sprinted forward, throwing herself between Sarlen's rage and Abelas' contained seething.

He pointed his finger at Abelas, ignoring her completely. "I'm not blind. I've seen the way you look at her!"

"Sarlen!"  Zahirana growled, pushing him until she had his attention. "Nothing happened, lethallin." She swallowed her pulse. She was just as shocked as him that the growl had come from her own throat.

His anger subsided into shame, his thoughts rearranging. "Oh. Nothing?" He glanced around at the shemlen who were staring. He gave a sheepish smile, backing away with a nod of his head. "I'm going to go... find Dorian in the library."

She watched her clanmate leave, both pleased that he cared to protect her but annoyed that he thought she was incapable. Abelas continued to the kitchen pulling her from her thoughts. She hurried after him, determined to see his wound even if the Elvhen's pride would cause difficulty.

"Abelas?" She stopped him in the narrow stairwell, hurrying in her steps to pass in front of him, but she gripped his shoulder and he turned towards her, pressing her into the wall. "Are you alright?"

"It has been some time since I have tasted my own blood."

She pushed his hood back, letting the torches light the glistening of blood. He gripped her wrist, his eyes sweeping across her own, the space between them lessening. She lowered her gaze back to his lip, thinking about the blood and last night when he cuddled against her. “Let me heal that.”

"It will heal on its own." He loosened his grip, sliding fingers against the softness of her arm and down towards her elbow.

“And I can heal it just as easily.” A smile wavered, shy in his presence, her words softer nearly whispers. “Besides… I need the practice.” She steadied her hand, her thumb sliding across the busted corner, summoning a soft spell against it.

She pulled her hand away, allowing herself to look him in the eye. “See.”

He licked the remaining blood, eyes smoldering in the embrace of their gaze. Abelas leaned forward, his lips parting to release a breathy sigh.

Zahirana could feel herself lean towards him but she couldn't, not again, not if he would leave her standing there, not if their feelings were going to be burdens. She pressed her back against the stone wall, sliding away from him, and down the steps as quick as her feet could carry her, muttering, "We can't, remember?"

She didn't hear him follow for some time and she wasn't courageous enough to look behind her to see his expression. He had wanted her, she saw that in his eyes and his mouth, the strain of his brow. But she was almost certain, that it would have been just as before. He would have left her there, muttering about priorities.

His People. They came first.

The kitchens were warm, rather small for such a large fort, and the cooks were already busy working away. Abelas moved about the kitchen, grabbing various fruits, putting them into her arms before heading back upstairs to the gardens. He collected a few herbs from the herbalist’s pots, taking them over towards Atisha’s tent where most of her supplies were.

Atisha raised a brow, eyeing their horde. “What is all of this?”

Zahirana rubbed her temple after dropping the food onto a table. “Sarlen and I…”

“Had too much to drink last night,” Abelas interjected, throwing Atisha an annoyed glower.

The healer chuckled into her hand. “Abelas, how exactly were you tasked with curing this… after-drinking ailment?”

Abelas glanced at Zahirana then back to Atisha.

“We ran into each other.” She rolled her gaze over the tops of the tents, gripping at the leather guard bands around her arm. “This morning. When I woke up.” She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry and scratchy.

“This morning…” Atisha sneered, backing away from them with that glint in her eye. “Drink your lovely little concoction. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Zahirana shook her head fiercely. “No. No, Atisha.”

She threw her hands up, turning away and walking with a bounce in her step, her shoulders shaking with muffled laughter.

“Nothing happened!” Zahirana shouted, glancing around the camp at those who turned their attention to her. She lowered her head as she headed into the open tent where Abelas was busying himself with the ingredients. “I’m going to need a drink after this.”

Abelas paused, glaring.

“Joke?” She raised a brow, a half smile.

“Shemlens,” he muttered.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual Content Warning: It takes place after the ~:~ for those who want to avoid reading it. Or those want to skip ahead and read it. No judgement. I don't often write these sort of scenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma sa'lath: My one love  
> Vhenana'ara: Heart's desire  
> Ma emma vhenan'ara: You are my heart's desire  
> Ma emma sa'lath: You are my one love

She hadn't seen the War Room and when they were called to gather there she thought she'd misheard Cullen's request, the request of her presence. He had found Sarlen and her practicing their archery. Sarlen was mostly practicing. She was making a fool of herself. And she left him behind rather uncertainly.

It was a large room, not quite as intimidating as the title made it. There was a table, stocked with an assortment of items and a large map spanning its surface. The Inquisitor and her advisors stood on one side, looking more intimidating than the room.

Zahirana made her way to Atisha, her familiar comfort contrasting against the strange room with its cold draft. "What's happening?" Her words were soft as she glanced around the room. Abelas stood across from the Inquisitor, Suledin and Enasalin standing off to the side with Atisha.

"The mounts will arrive at the week's end." Lavellan pressed her hip into the table, her arms folded neatly across her chest. "Before they arrive, I have a request."

"I did not expect otherwise." Abelas, firm but not angry, stared her down.

Cullen shifted, placing fingers against the corner of the map, west Orlais. "There are matters in the Western Approach that concern the Inquisition."

"We have enough mounts to scout the area ahead," added Lavellan. "Eight, in fact. Four of my people and four of yours."

Abelas lifted his chin. "What makes you assume we are going to the same place."

"We can part ways," she humored, "when the time arrives."

"We will also provide more supplies," Josephine, the ambassador, one Zahirana had met briefly during their first arrival. She had assisted with their camp's set up in the garden, ordering this and that, ensuring their comfort. "Your army will want for nothing."

Abelas turned his gaze to Enasalin. They exchanged silent words, gazes holding more meaning than any conversation they'd ever had. He turned to Atisha. "Your thoughts?"

The healer lightly gripped her hands in front of her, peering down at the yellowing map, faded and worn. She seemed to mull over thoughts far beyond their conversation, thoughts of a distant past, a different yet similar map. "Going ahead of the others may provide us with a better feel of the area."

"I can lead such a party," Suledin assured.

Abelas gave a few nods, folding his arms, placing a furled hand at his chin. "Let us be forward with one another. You are curious. You seek knowledge about where we are going and why. That is your reason for coming."

"Curious, yes." She leaned forward, hands pressed across the map, staring at him over the table. "There's also someone I'm looking for. The elf at the Well of Sorrows. He was with me."

Abelas tilted his chin down, deeper in his thoughts. "Very well. I will discuss the matter further to decide who shall go."

Lavellan bowed her head, pushing off of the table. "We will leave you. In the morning, I'll meet them in the main hall."

The room was quiet, even moments after the Inquisition's figureheads left the room. Abelas turned and faced them, pressed back against the table. "I will lead this group. I entrust Enasalin with the others. He is the general of our army."

Atisha hummed, a gentle sound. "The rest of us can go with you."

Zahirana chuckled, softly at first then rather uncontrollably. "Us? You mean me?"

Atisha took hold of her hand, patted it. "You, Suledin, and I. That means four horses."

She was shocked, confused even. A Dalish, not even Elvhen, always dragged to their important meetings about troop movements and location plans. She learned her lesson after the cave, the terrible calamity that nearly killed Abelas. She wasn’t experienced enough. She was nothing without her bow. With her bow she was still a simple scout, a simple hunter. Zahirana shook her head. "What use would I be?"

"You understand modern people better than us." Atisha, always encouraging, always enticing her. "You know the pragmatics of the shemlens and the city elves."

She didn't understand shemlens at all or city elves. But she did understand how to avoid them and what places were easiest to travel through. The clan rarely went west and even more rarely went north. "If I go with you, Sarlen will demand to go as well."

Enasalin, his voice raspy with age, spoke up. "Suledin would best serve us staying with the main group. His scouts are invaluable. He even more."

He smirked, throwing the old man a wink. "You'd be lost without me."

Abelas groaned. "We leave in the morning. Atisha, we need to make sure you're well stocked for the journey." He motioned her to the door, the rest of the group following behind in a slow shuffle.

Zahirana took the opportunity to find Sarlen who was no longer at the archery range. He had run off, likely at the tavern or the library. Both had become his makeshift home. That was the Dalish way, the nomadic way. Home was wherever comfortable, moving and adapting.

She found herself at the empty watchtower, climbing its ladder to the second floor. The creaking of wooden beams, the noises of Skyhold distant, and the refreshing smell of snow clinging to the air. It wasn't home, not the one she had grown accustomed to, but it was close.

She climbed up the fractured stone wall, reaching the very top, and pulled herself up onto the flat roof. In the distance were the peaks of mountains, white and gray. Even the sky was white and gray, smears of baby blue between the clouds, and a faded sun straining to heat the air.

"Thought I'd find you here." Sarlen poked his head up through the roof. "Anything unusual happen? Shemlen blood sacrifice? Shemlen orgies?"

She shook her head, knowing exactly what he was going to say. It was something she would've said in his shoes. "Shemlen quest into the obscure western half of Orlais."

He folded his arms onto the roof, not bothering to climb up. "Oh," he made sure to make his disappointment known. "Not as fun."

"We're joining them."

His brows knitted together. "We. As in me?"

"I made sure to include you." She turned her head, throwing him her victorious smirk.

"Harellen." He slapped his hands onto the stone a few times. "Celebration then! Drinks!"

Zahirana stood up. "You can drink. I'll watch."

Sarlen snorted, dropping back down into the tower. "In that case, I'll drink for both of us."

He wouldn't have had it any other way.

 

~:~

 

She walked into her assigned bedroom after putting Sarlen to bed. She expected it to be dark and chilly but there was a soft glow of orange candlelight. And there was Abelas, hood thrown back, sitting on the edge of her bed hunched over with his elbows digging into his legs, his head resting on clasped hands. He opened his eyes, gazing at her with his usual countenance.

“Abelas?” She stepped inside, letting the door slide shut. “Are you… alright?”

He dropped his gaze, letting his hands fall away. “There are things that I have not yet said to you that I should have said by now.”

Her brow jolted, nearly drawing a chuckle from her. “It’s in the middle of the night. You didn’t think it could wait?”

He pushed himself off the bed, always indecisive in his actions with her, always wavering in his choice, but it seemed like this time he was certain. He stepped towards her, inches from her, dropping to his knees, and slowly laid his hands along her hips. They trembled against her, thumbs pressed against the roundness of her pelvic bone.

She pulled in her bottom lip, sinking her teeth into it to keep back any noises that might threaten to jump free.

“When your clan arrived… I thought perhaps you would be gone forever.” He sighed, pressing his forehead against the firmness of her stomach. “In that moment, I lost you.” He tugged her hips, pressing her against him, her thighs against his chest, arms snaking around her, and his lips sliding upwards along her sternum.

She was speechless, her mind fumbling with words, her breath caught in her lungs, fire blazing between their bodies. His touch weakened her legs, her hands on his shoulder barely supporting her as a wave of cold magic rippled across her warming skin, her mind seeping into his caresses. Her eyes nearly slid shut, slipping into pleasure. She pulled in her magic, gathering it along with her senses.

“This time I shall not leave.” His hands slid up either side of her, skimming beneath the leather of her armor, over the links of chainmail. He slowly stood, towering over her, lips trailing upwards until they pressed against her ear. “Ma sa’lath.”

Her hand shook as it moved from his shoulder to his neck, her lips against his ear in kind. Her words were rough, throaty whispers, “You’re certain?”

He pressed her tighter against him, unbuckled the first strap of her armor in response.

She pulled her head back, a smile quivering upon her lips. She looked at his eyes, golden suns that held every ounce of sorrow the world could offer but there was also something sweeter there, mild and tender. She lowered her gaze across the broadness of his nose to the softness of his lips. She kissed him, gently at first, a moan surfacing as the kisses grew profound. Their mouths opening, desperate for the intimacy, his lips molding hers, tugging and pressing deep.

He stumbled backwards, hands fumbling to undo the belts of his armor, her hands crawling up the crown of his skull through the strands of his hair, pulling it from its leather binding. His knees hit the edge of the bed, pulling her down with him. Their lips parted. They were nothing but heaving breaths and shaky smiles.

She pressed her forehead against his, gazing into his eyes, seeking what emotions lied there. It was perhaps the first time she saw his raw endearment, his emotions exposed plainly, the corners of his lips forming a soft smile. He sat up and pulled her thighs forward until only their armor separated them. His eyes slipped closed, placing soft butterfly kisses along her jaw and down the softness of her throat.

She removed her scarf from around her neck and tossed it. His hand reached up quickly, taking the dragon bone pendant into his palm, seeing it somehow instilled a moment of relief. He leaned forward, nose brushing against hers, before placing a soft kiss on her lips. He let the pendant slip away, turning to the leather belt secured around her waist.

He worked slowly, lips hungry against hers, and hands undressing her, each movement filled with gentleness and measured grace. She removed his gloves with ease, his chestplate, until both of them were down to their chainmail and cloth.

She held his face, thumbs against his smooth cheekbones. "You're certain?"

There was a slight laugh in his words. "Are you?"

She kissed him once, briefly, and her gaze softened with his. "Ma emma vhenan'ara."

He carefully pushed back her dark hair, letting hands just barely caress across her face. "Ma emma sa'lath." He pulled his chainmail shirt over his head letting it slink off the side of the bed in a clinking mess.

She followed suit, lifting her chainmail, throwing the metal down onto the floor and worked to untie the leather strips until the padded doublet fell away, leaving her cold and exposed for him alone to behold.

He had seen her naked before but now his gaze flittered across her, memorizing every curve and scar, every freckle that dusted across her sunbaked skin. He leaned forward, kissing her collarbone, nipping with his teeth playfully, moving along until his tongue could lap at the centered curve of bone.

She laughed, letting her lips fall against the top of his head.

Abelas twisted, laying her back gently across the bed, a hand behind her head until it rested soft upon the pillows. He kneeled in front of her and began to remove the last of his clothes. He felt unabashed until she sat up, grabbing his hands to stop him.

He worried. Had she changed her mind?

She smirked, her infamous half smile, one that he was growing to enjoy. She pulled at the string of his pants, untying them, pulling them open and down from his hips, lower until she could see him exposed before her, hard and swollen.

He slowly pulled them off, a tight fit against his muscled thighs, a luxurious relief. He was naked before her, his sleek form wrought with muscles, his vallaslin intricately flowing across each mound and valley. He was scarred, possibly more than her, his wounds varying from small cuts to tangled masses, her fingers finding the worst of them on his back.

His movements didn't give her time to enjoy his carved features, to let her survey trail past his abdomen once more. He was pulling her beneath the covers, her shivers more obvious to him than herself, his warm arms around her reminding her of home, the heat of the blazing sun in summer.

She moved beneath him, pulling him closer with her legs until he was centered over her. She felt it burning hot, the hardness of his erection, pressed against her but teasingly not within her. She dug her heels into the flesh of his buttox, her body around him growing taut as a bowstring, a fierce ache igniting between her thighs.

He was too busy examining her: her parted lips curved ever so slightly, the rapid pulse of her heart beating wildly in her throat. He kissed her pulse, a fluttering tickle against his lips. She moaned, her body arching towards him, her thighs tightening with need, with hopefulness.

He chuckled, a soft sound that she rarely ever heard from him. "I wish to take my time, ma sa'lath."

She slid a hand between them, letting her nails gently flow across the skin of his stomach, following the dark green twists of vallaslin. "How much time exactly?" she whispered into his ear. She continued onward, even when his breath began to stutter and his abdomen jolted away, a foreshadowed panting, her fingertips finding the blaze of heat, nervously gliding down, fondling across the tip and gripping.

He whispered a moan, pressing his forehead into the pillow beside her, his elbows burying into the bed as his body tensed, each muscle clenching with desperation. "Ma sa'lath," he pleaded, a soft sound, a whispered exaltation.

Her other hand gripped tightly onto the firm muscle of his shoulder, maneuvering her hips, higher until she was aligned against him, only skin to separate them, guiding him inside of her slick warmth. The deeper he went the louder their breathy moans became. He moved with restraint, desperately pacing his drive deeper. His hands carved their way beneath her, supporting her frame, supporting the arch of her spine., fingertips sinking deep into skin and muscles.

He rocked against her slow, flesh and bone grinding and kneading. Her fingers dug into the muscle of his back, nails beginning to sink into his skin. Her fingers scorched at the loss of control, her magic beginning to seep free. He nipped at her earlobe, against the round bone of her jaw, across the nape of her neck.

"Vhenan'ara," she begged, twisting beneath him, locking her ankles together, the strength of her legs wavering. She slid her hands down his back, towards the base of his spine. A lingering cold frosty touch of mana forced a shudder out of him.

He groaned, moved harder, in one great sway, pushing her body up across the bed. He lost his restraint, a craving in each rough and ragged movement. Their breaths turned into moans, an orchestra of passionate urgency.

She whimpered, panting it against his ear, raking her fingers into his hair as he buried his hot breath against the curve of her neck. Her throat stuttered a plea, her magic spilling around them, chilling the sweat laced across their skin. Her desperation roiled through the orgasm, her entire body trembling and tightening, her need deepening.

"Abelas," she cried out, begging, head pulled back and digging into the pillow, feeling his weight heave across her.

His name rolled off of her lips, a prayer, a cry of sacrilegious devotion, and at the sound of it his body shuddered against her, tightening at the apex of lust. The heat of his seeds spilled inside her, his fingers clenching around the sheets of the bed. He cradled her, his arms gentler than before, his body still undulated the rhythm, rocking slowly, his need still not satiated.

She reached back to grip the pillows, gazing up to see the walls glazed in a layer of frost and ice. Their breath, a wisp of mist, shivered out of them with each uneven breath.

He slid fingers across her ribs, down along her stomach. A spell spun in each touch, anchoring her magic back beneath her skin, each cold rush riding across her heated and throbbing form. She moaned, her body moving against him, seeking every stroke.

Languidly, sunk down and fitted against her, he trembled. His heart galloped inside of his chest and his breaths matched with her own. He lifted his head, sliding gentle fingertips across her cheek, a kiss across the other. "Zahirana," he whispered, a precious sound on the tip of his tongue. He kissed her cheek gently once more.

She laughed ever so softly, still breathy and exhausted. She pressed her mouth against his, whispering his name against his lips.

He smiled ever so slightly and moved off her, curled against her side. She took that moment to press her back against his chest. He moaned, a pleased sigh, wrapping his arms around her, his head against her. He let his lips slip across her neck, breath tickling her skin. He hoped she knew, that she understood his admiration.

She laced her fingers with his, sighing into sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'assan: Little Arrow  
> Ma serannas: My thanks  
> Shemlen: quick children/insult

It was early morning, the light of the sun a thin sliver beneath the wooden door. Zahirana moved, pressing her back against the heat of his chest, comfort of his presence unfaltering. He nuzzled his lips along her neck, kissing the place behind her ear. They enjoyed the moment of silence, Skyhold quiet as the depth of an ancient ruin. She let his breathing consume her thoughts, matching hers with his, meditating until her mind softened against the pool of mana between them.

"Zahirana," Sarlen pushed the door open, stepping inside, muttering the words, "Everyone is waiting--" He stepped back, then forward, making a double take at the sight, before leaving and closing the door behind him.

"What is it?" Atisha questioned on the other side of the door.

Zahirana let her brows rise, a smirk following suit.

Abelas moaned in annoyance, shifting closer against her.

"Nothing. They're not in there."

"Why did you close..." Atisha chuckled. "They? They're in their together?"

"No." Sarlen's voice squeaked. "No... Yes."

"Are they doing it right now?"

"I don't know! I didn't look that intensely!" There was a hushing of feet across stone. "Just go. Let's go. Give them... space."

"They are loud," Abelas muttered against her ear.

She laughed, mischievous with her words, "Do you think we were that loud?"

He moaned, rolling her back until he could slide on top of her, a soft brief kiss against her lips. "You did call out my name quite loudly."

A laugh chimed free, loud and wholesome. "I think you're remembering it wrong," she teased. "It was no doubt... Fen'Harel's." She remembered too late that she had met the Dread Wolf, but sneered at the idea. "He was rather attractive."

His gaze was intense, determined. "You shall never cry out his name." He kissed her, deep and longingly, until she moaned into his mouth. He pulled back, examined her features, her growing smile, her gaze of admiration... The joy slowly vanished as he examined her vallaslin, running a finger across the design above her brow.

"Abelas?" Her words were soft, worried. She could see his usual sorrow fall back into his features, her heart clenching at the sight of it.

He shifted his weight beside her, resting his head against a propped arm. He stroked the dark strands of her hair away, relishing in her skin's softness. "We would have been enemies had we met at the time of Arlathan."

"You never speak of it." She lifted a hand, running her fingers across his strong jawline, a thumb across his hard frown. "Was it that horrible? That we would be enemies?"

"You would have served Andruil. And I Mythal." His gaze trailed away, looking past her to memories that were unpleasant and distant things. "The Elvhen destroyed themselves. It was not a happier time as you might think of it as."

She hated seeing the agony in his expression, the varied masks he wore to cover up what others might perceive as weakness. She lifted up and kissed him. "It is happier now, though. Right?"

He smiled, letting it go beyond what he normally would have. "Yes." He let his hand fall away from his head, leaned into brush his lips across hers, teasing her ever so slightly.

She smiled, her parted lips anticipating the kiss.

His lips moved to her cheek, down along her neck, gently gliding, never remaining for too long. "We should get dressed before they come back."

"Before Atisha bursts in here from her lack of restraint."

Abelas pulled away slowly, his movements elegant and calm, practiced grace of most rogues. He moved across to her side of the bed, sitting on its edge, the soft darkness outlining his broad figure. He grabbed his pants from the floor, slid them on and tied them into place. His gaze turned to her, found her admiring the view.

"Just a moment longer," she excused. "I'm not ready to go back out there."

He turned in his seat, bending his leg onto the bed with him. "Do not think this was some... dalliance. This meant more than I am capable of expressing." His gaze lowered to the pendant, his hands reaching out to scoop it into his palm.

"You said it was meaningless." She smirked, her hand resting on top of his.

"I lied." His expression was unreadable, his mask firmly in place.

A few quick knocks hit the door, jolting them from their soft silence. "Alright, I'm coming in!" Atisha opened the door, glancing down the balcony before closing it behind her.

Abelas let the pendent fall from his palm, turning his attention to Atisha. "Knocking before you enter usually implies being invited in."

She shook her head. "Jokes, Abelas? The Inquisitor is downstairs waiting. How should I explain this? Why you are both taking so long. Why you're in the same room together."

He looked over to Zahirana. "What is our plan?"

"Plan." She sneered uncontrollably. "I was thinking about just telling them we were having a blood ritualized orgy involving the cooking staff and the tavern wenches."

"Ah." He smiled, ever so softly, but she recognized it. He turned to look at Atisha, a nonchalant shrug of a shoulder. "I would keep out the blood magic, though. They would likely scoff at such things."

"Abelas?" Atisha was flustered, her laugh stuttering out. She shook her head, fingers against her forehead. "I will do what I can. Hurry up, both you." She backed out of the room, her laughter could be heard as she walked away.

Abelas grabbed his shirt off the floor. "This shall be interesting."

Zahirana sat up, crawling on her knees to wrap her arms loosely around his neck. "Are you worried what they'll think?"

His eyes slipped closed, leaning back against her warmth. "They will question me. But they will see that my leadership has not changed."

She kissed the back of his neck before stepping off the bed to gather her clothes. "Sarlen will... certainly have a few words."

"Perhaps punches as well."

She looked back at him, his smirk ever so evident. She liked the moments when they were alone and his expressions became more vibrant. She felt honored, blessed, to see his true face that was obscured behind all of his defensive walls.

They headed downstairs to the main hall. The Inquisitor stood waiting, leaning back against one of the tables, talking in hushed whispers with Atisha. Their conversation was far too versed for it to be about them.

"Finally," Sarlen chimed, a hidden note of bitterness.

Lavellan slid off of the table, her lips thin but somehow smiling. "Our horses are ready at the gate." She led the way through the keep's great doors and out into the courtyard. Cole, the young boy, was at her side, his walk unsteady and twitchy.

Sarlen snatched hold of her hand, pulling her ahead of the group.

Dorian chuckled, unable to resist. "Here I thought the Elvhen were incapable of taking time for pleasure."

Abelas glowered, his masks back into place, his defensive stance unfaltered. "And the shemlen, no doubt, lack the restraint to stop taking pleasure wherever they see it?"

The mage flashed him a charming smile, his words still clinging to jest. "Of course. Otherwise, we'd no doubt be wild savage beasts."

"Strange. Do not savage beasts do the same? Finding whatever they can do to please themselves with it."

"What savage beats?" Cole inquired, his voice soft and gentle.

Atisha cleared her throat. "I will not listen to this the entire journey."

"Nor I," scoffed Cassandra. "The pleasures of others should not concern us."

Dorian threw her a smirk. "Oh, but I certainly wouldn't mind reading about it." He was even so bold as to wink at her. "Anyone ever read Varric's lovely little novel, Swords and Shields?"

Cassandra gave a disgruntled huff, quickening her steps.

"Don't tease her, Dorian." The Inquisitor spoke firmly but her smirk said otherwise.

"What savage beast?" Cole asked again, his presence closer to Dorian's side.

"Shemlen," Atisha muttered, glancing at Abelas.

He gazed back at her briefly, an uncertain sigh. His eyes were on Zahirana and Sarlen. He expected the elf, a brotherly figure in her life, to intervene in one way or another. He just hadn't hoped it would be so soon.

Their mounts were saddled and at the gates, large great beasts, their antlers massive and wide. Zahirana remembered them, vaguely, the day the Inquisitor found Ableas and her in the snow half-dead. The large harts made her nervous, larger the closer they walked over. The halla were somewhat smaller, rarely ridden, used mostly for the landships.

Lavellan climbed on, swinging her leg across with practiced ease. She started off down the bridge, the others following close behind. Zahirana watched the others, mimicking their movements, her heart racing as the hart snorted and jolted beneath her.

Abelas reined his mount over, placed a steady hand on her hart's neck.

She peered over at him, more ashamed than grateful, then rolled her attention to Sarlen who seemed just as nervous. Her pride wasn't quite as squandered. "Ma serannas." She took the reins in her hand, letting her hart follow the herd as it would have naturally.

Abelas rode beside her, keeping in proximity in case she needed him.

She peered over at him, a soft smile making its way across her lips.

Sarlen cleared his throat, drawing both of their attention. "Da'assan."

"Need some water, lethallin?" She smirked, knowing all too well what her clanmate was up to. "Your throat must be scratchy from all of this cold mountain air."

"I will leave the two of you to talk." Abelas looked stern but his eyes were soft. He rode further up ahead, keeping in speed next to Atisha.

"You barely know him," muttered Sarlen.

Zahirana pulled hard on the reins, the hart stopping quickly, pulling its front hooves off the ground for a moment before settling back into a clam. Her words were firm, stern, "You do not know him. I know him well enough." She bit back the rest of her words, her explanations on Abelas' meaning to her, the time they spent together as a clan, the time she spent alone with him in that dark cave, thinking that she failed someone else, the time she slept against him and finally felt what it meant to truly sleep without constant fear of her surroundings.

Sarlen turned his hart, facing her but not truly seeing her. "I do not trust him. He told the Keeper that he owned you."

"To help me," she hissed. "The Keeper would have let the clan pass judgment, likely sentencing me to death."

Sarlen tilted his head, looking away from her, the stress still clinging to his expression. He pulled the reins of his hart, guiding it back towards the others. She followed moments after, still uncertain of their exchange of words. Sarlen cared. She knew that much. He would be her brother, blood or not, for she owed him greatly, greater than any other. He was her closest friend, and for the longest time, he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor animal death. It's very brief but just in case it offends anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Da'assan: Little arrow  
> Emma lath'din: I don't like you  
> Ma serannas: My thanks  
> Ma nuvenin: My pleasure  
> Ma sa'lath: My one love  
> Vhenan'ara: Heart's desire  
> Dareth shiral: Safe journey

It took nearly four days to climb back down the mountain using the path. There was little time for them to set up tents after each trek and the weather made it nearly impossible to start any campfires. They settled on huddling beneath a ridge, one night, out of the falling snow and away from most of the harsh winds. The other nights, they bore the brunt of the bitter mountain snowstorms.

Finally, they reached the valley, pale green grasses and cool winds. It wasn’t warm, not like the luscious wilds she had grown up in, but it wasn’t bitter cold either. It was a gentle cool, enough to remove the thick furs from their armor, and in the sun she could feel her skin soak and bake.

They settled down for the day to regain the energy they lost in their journey down the mountainside. They would take their time, letting their mounts relax, in fear they might die from exhaustion. Four tents were slowly mounted, a large fire pit in the center, and the harts grazed its perimeters.

Zahirana stretched out across the grass, feeling it prickle against her skin, against her newly released toes. She was pleased to feel closer to home and to comfort. There were the sweet sounds of skylarks and sparrows, the hushing whispers of tall grasses caressed by the wind, and even the fresh scent of wildflowers.

Sarlen chuckled.

“I feel like I can breathe again.” She sat up, squinting up at him, the bright orange sun beaming behind him.

“I’d feel better if we had the aravels.” He looked back at their encampment. “I don’t like sleeping on the ground.”

She lowered her gaze, fingers fidgeting with the blades of grass. “I do miss the aravels.”

“And our home?”

Her smile faded as she looked at the dry dirt, cracked by the sun, between the faded green of the plants. “I’m not sure what home actually means.”

He reached down, taking hold of her hand and pulling her up on her feet. “What it always means.” He nudged over his shoulder towards the people gathered around the growing collection of firewood.

She looked at them, Atisha and Abelas, for they had grown to mean a great deal to her. She nodded. Yes, they were definitely home.

“Alright.” Sarlen punched her arm before jetting off. “Let’s practice. We’ve got some hunting to catch up on.”

She rubbed her fingers across her brow, trying not to grip the mass of scar tissue centered below her shoulder. “Lots of practice.”

He snagged a few bows from their gear and raced away from camp towards a small patch of trees. “You won’t learn until you try.” He lifted one of the bows, letting her take it from him wearily.

She stood next to Sarlen, her bow drawn back to the corner of her mouth. She let the arrow fly but just like her previous attempts it missed its mark by inches. She lowered the bow and took down a deep breath, letting it whistle pass her lips.

Sarlen chuckled, smug as ever. “I’m going to have to stop calling da’assan soon.”

She threw him a glare. “Emma lath’din.”

He couldn’t contain his laugh, letting it thunder as loudly as he could make it.

Zahirana felt the bow tug out of her hand. She spun around, thinking it was Sarlen teasing her. Abelas was there instead, replacing her bow with another. Except, as she examined it, she realized it wasn’t strung. “Abelas? What is this?”

“A bow,” he stated matter of factly.

Sarlen snickered, backing away from the two of them, finding someone else to tease.

She pulled in her lips, biting down on the smile that threatened, attempting not to destroy his pride. She cleared her throat. “I see that. It doesn’t have a string on it.”

He looked away, towards the tree she’d been aiming at. “You won’t need one.”

She cleared her throat again, to keep down her laugh. “I realize that you aren’t an archer but typically bows have these strings that we notch our arrows on.”

Abelas stepped forward, pulling her back against his chest, fingers firm against her pelvic bone. “You won’t need one.”

Her heart stumbled. She took down a breath of air, held it in her lungs.

He moved the bow to her right hand, aiming it like she would have normally. “You have magic, a willpower over the world around you. Just like before, there are fragments of it, filling the air and seeping into the earth.”

She slowly released her breath. She pulled her left hand back, pretending she was aiming, summoning her magic.

“Remember, you do not have to squander your reserves. Do not consume the magic. Simply guide it, direct its efforts into existence, forming and raveling its creation.”

She pulled the energy around, reaching into the dirt, into the grass and the roots of the trees, pulling the small remnants from air, forming it and shaping it. She imagined the arrow, the glint of metal, the firmness of the shaft, the softness of the feathers, the taut pulled bowstring.

She released it, letting her magic spark and sizzle through the air, letting it pierce the trunk of the tree in front of her. It exploded into a wild burst of electricity and raw force, shredding the bark and wood.

Abelas lowered his mouth against her ear, his breath hot and moist. “You do not need a bow but I can compromise.”

She laughed, lips parted from her initial shock. She looked over her shoulder at him, admiring the small curl of his lips. “Ma serannas, vhenan’ara.”

“Ma nuvenin, ma sa’lath.” He kissed her cheek before pulling away from her. His eyes lingered for a moment, enjoying her presence, then turned towards camp.

She gripped the bow, pleased to have its comforting weight. Perhaps that was why she felt no connection to her magic. She couldn’t hold it, couldn’t feel its firmness in her grip. It always felt so distant and wispy, unreliable and strange.

She turned towards camp where everyone had gathered.

“... more supplies,” Lavellan had been saying but she only caught the end of it.

Atisha looked at her approaching, a soft smile. “Zahirana can gather food for us. I can gather herbs. I thought I saw a patch south of here.”

Sarlen lifted his bow. “We can go together.”

Zahirana looked down at the carved woodwork in her grasp, examining the intricate designs. They looked Elvhen and well crafted. She wasn’t certain where he managed to find one without its string or if he had taken a bow and cut its string. “I’d like to go alone.”

He turned to her, moving closer. “Alone?”

She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, squeezed it ever so slightly. “I just need… to do this. I need to know I can do this on my own.”

He nodded his head despite the wounded twinge of pain in his expression.

Abelas shifted his weight, stepping back in doing so. “It is dangerous to go alone.”

She gave a half-smile, one he always seemed to draw out of her. “I will be careful and take no risks. I’ve survived on my own before.”

He rolled his eyes to Atisha, expecting her to support his claim.

But the healer simply shrugged. “Dareth shiral.”

Zahirana turned away from camp. She clenched the bow, feeling the firmness of the leather against her coarse hands. She headed towards the woods that decorated the edge of the meadow. A great deal of game would be there, hidden amongst its safe shadows.

“Zahirana.” Abelas grabbed hold of her wrist, pulling her around to face him. “Remember what I taught you.” His brows strained under anxiety.

Her expression was soft, taking in his worry and hoping to soothe it. She lifted a hand, tracing the hills and valleys of his face. “I will. Ma emma lath. Ma emma atishan.”

He took her face into his hands, both of them large and warm against either side of her face. He pressed his forehead down, absorbing the warmth of her presence. “Ar lath ma.”

Her eyes slipped closed, a knot in her throat, and whispered, “Ar lath ma. I will return soon.”

He dropped his hands away and took a few steps back.

She hesitated but she knew she had to do this, to prove to herself that she was capable of helping the others, that she wasn’t simply tagging along. She turned around and walked towards the woodlands in the distance. She glanced back over her shoulder, Abelas faithfully watching her leave. It was a feeling of both delight and sorrow. Delight in his affection and sorrow in his fears.

It was a little past noon when she reached the woods. There were tracks everywhere, the earth soft and moist with the previous night’s rain. She followed the tracks to a stream, making her vantage point close by, among the thick bushes. Her prey would likely come to drink, eventually. After all, the tracks were fresh.

A herd was of small rams were near by. She could hear their grunts and grumbles in the distance, the whispering of crumpled leaves and the crack of breaking branches.

She kept still, even began to meditate. She thought back on Abelas' words. Everything had a lingering touch of magic. She sought out their magic, the pulses of it in their blood. They were close, to her left.

She gripped the bow, aiming it in that direction. They were getting closer. She could see their movements between the brush, their darkened skin barely noticeable against the shade of the trees.

She pulled back her left hand, holding it at the corner of her mouth, and began to slowly work her spell. The arrow formed, a dusting of gold and purple sparks, pulsating the longer she held it in place. She focused its creation, not too strong but not too weak. She didn't want the ram to incinerate or to simply wound it and cause suffering. Just enough force to kill quick and painlessly.

"Andruil, may my aim be steady and my arrow true." She let go of the make-believe bowstring and guided the arrow's power against the rib cage of the creature, piercing its heart.

The ram jumped forward, its nerves reeling from death, but quickly fell to its side. The rest of the herd cried out, rushing deep into the woodlands. She moved from her hiding spot and walked her way towards the ram.

"Thank you for all that you may offer." She ran her fingers along its coarse hair. "Ghilan'nain, forgive my trespass against this creature, forgive my trespass against you."

After her kill was gutted and clean, it was lighter and easier for her to carry back towards the camp. She arrived just before sunset, dropping its weight down next to the campfire.

Sarlen, smug and haughty, approached her. "Only a ram? Couldn't find any great bears out there to take down?"

Zahirana chuckled. "They heard I was in the area and decided to stay home."

The ram fed the eight of them easily and there was a great deal of laughter and stories around the campfire. Zahirana felt like she was in a clan again, among trusted family and beneath a shroud of dusted starlight and a beaming full moon. Their bellies were full with meat and warmed by the tea Atisha prepared, coating their tongues with the taste of earthy flowers.

"And there was Cullen, challenging Josie to one last round of Wicked Grace." Lavellan smiled, her passion burning behind each word, the story reaching its apex.

Dorian grinned sheepishly. "Varric warned him, to be fair."

"She had him stripped down of every article of clothing by the end of it," she added, stifling back her laughter. "I'll never forget the unique color of scarlet on his face."

"The Commander of the Inquisition running to his quarters stark naked." Cassandra shook her head, giving an irritated huff. "We are lucky no one but the night watch witnessed it."

Atisha giggled. "I will remember this the next time I see him."

Abelas stood, taking Zahirana's small rough hand into his, their movements barely taking notice from the entranced group.

She followed him, her heart fluttering inside of her chest and her stomach twisted into knots. They had such little time alone together since Skyhold.

Sarlen cleared his throat, getting to his feet as they passed by.

Abelas turned to him, stern faced and bold. "I am stealing your clanmate."

He gave a weak smile, huffing. Sarlen opened his mouth ready to argue but Dorian grabbed him by the shoulders from behind. The mage whispered into his ear and Sarlen's brows rose with each soft word. He cleared his throat after Dorian walked away. "On second thought, I'm... tired and should probably... sleep." He backed away from her, cheeks flushed, smile quivering.

Zahirana felt her mouth fall open.

Abelas didn't hesitate, didn't wait for anyone else to interfere. He gently pulled her into the large tent with him. He guided her to stand in front of him, motioning her to follow him down onto his knees.

She relished the softness of his fingers against hers as she kneeled down, sitting with her feet tucked beneath her.

"Tonight, there is a matter I wish to discuss." He lifted his hands, letting them skirt across her face, fingertips running along her vallaslin. He let them glide down her neck and slowly stopped at her scarf. He untied it, set it down onto the ground next to them, before turning his attention to the pendant.

"You still haven't told me what it means." She lifted it into view.

He ran his forefingers across the etched markings. "It was given to me the day I was placed in charge of The Well of Sorrows as a Sentinel. It was a symbol of my devotion to Mythal."

Her eyes fell upon it. She wasn’t certain what the well was. It was a question for another time. The item obviously carried a great deal of value for him. "And you gave it to me?"

His hands lay flat against her thighs, moving until his thighs were on either side of her, drawing them closer together. "There is a... full moon tonight. In Arlathan, there would have been an entire night of celebrations. The moon is a symbol of cycles and of change, growth and understanding. On full moons there was a tradition of declaring one's devotion to another. It was a time of union."

"Like... marriage?" Her brows rose despite her efforts to remain neutral. She wasn't certain what he was trying to say. Her pounding heart, did little to help.

"Marriage is final. A union is less... dramatic." He lifted his eyes, letting them sweep across her features. "It is a promise. It is made privately between two people until the day that the union is no longer desired."

She went to speak but her thoughts were too scattered and the words felt too distant.

"I would not pressure you into--"

She laughed softly. "I would... like that, a union."

His hand moved up her thighs and along her waist. He leaned in closer, his mouth timidly hovering over hers, questioning with uncertainty.

She leaned forward, smiling through the kiss. Her hands gripped at the folds of his hood and pulled him down with her as she laid out across the tent.

He rested his weight beside her, a hand running along the edge of her body. He pulled from the kiss to let his gaze sweep across the features of her face, watched as she closed her eyes with content. "I have a confession." His brows knitted together, bending beneath the weight of worry. "One you may not be pleased with."

Her brow jolted. Her eyes narrowed. "That doesn't sound ominous..."

"While we were in the woods together, after the events with your clan... You were having difficulty sleeping..." He lowered his gaze, words timid whispers. "I used magic to help stay the nightmares away."

Zahirana chuckled, deciphering the fear that hung in his eyes. "What sort of place was Arlathan to make you think I would upset about that?"

He sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "A place where trust was not placed easily with others."

She lifted his head, high enough to look into his eyes. "What was it like?"

His expression lost its worry but his frown remained and his brows were still drawn together. "You would have been a slave." He ran a finger along the dark tattoo across her brow.

"Slave?" She whispered it, feeling it burn her tongue. She sat up in a rush, pulling in her feet beside her. "What do you mean by that?"

He sat up as well, sitting next to her, but unable to look at her. His words had obviously upset her. "I should not have said anything."

"Abelas," she insisted, "tell me."

"When I first told you what I was... You said it had destroyed you, shattered the reality around you. I do not wish to do so again. I should have guarded my words more carefully."

She stared into the profile of his face, the curves and edges, the dark green twist of vallaslin branching outward. "Were you a slave?"

He took down a breath, filling his lungs with it. "I was. I served Mythal but it had been an honor serving her. I was a Sentinel, a guardian over vast knowledge. Even after her death, I continued to serve her."

A spark burned across her face, hatred or rage, perhaps distorted fear. She wasn't certain. The Dalish had fought against slavery, fought against submission, never again would they submit. To find out that Arlathan, their ideal role model, had been slavers.

She spoke the words, angrier than she intended, "And Fen'Harel. Will you be his slave?"

"No." He turned his gaze to her now. He was confident enough. "I considered it, in the beginning..." He reached out, brushing his thumb across the heat of her cheek. "You convinced me that I had purpose without being a slave."

She lowered her gaze, ashamed of her anger.

He lifted her chin with a gentle push of fingertips. "Ma serannas, ma sa'lath."

Her smile was weak. "I should be thanking you, for helping me sleep."

His arms slipped around her, pulled her down to rest against the hard earth. His lips slid over hers, teeth nipping until her mouth parted, letting the heat of his tongue flick across her own. He rolled with her, his weight anchoring against her center, relinquishing breathy sighs and moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added (made up) the Andruil and Ghilan'nain "prayer" or "saying" because I imagine the Dalish are similar to Native Americans. I just feel like they might respect nature and would especially want to show respect to those goddesses during a hunt.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I... apologize. Enjoy, my lovlies, enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma serannas: My thanks  
> Ma sa'lath: My one love  
> Vhenan'ara: Heart's desire  
> Ar lath ma: I love you

Days passed, a little over a week and a half, their journey west was mildly uneventful. They avoided the main roads and paths, kept away from the towns and cities as best possible. The Inquisitor would have been gladly accepted. Her strange company, perhaps not so welcomed. Armored elves and mages would have still been frowned upon, weary as villagers would be.

Every day they mounted forward through valleys, hills, and woods, across streams and rivers, skirting the edges of lakes. Each night they set up camp, gathered around the fire, and devoured small morsels of meat. Somehow, each night, she managed to stay up with Abelas. They talked in hushed whispers until finally they couldn't resist a slide of a hand or a chaste kiss, small gestures that led to passionate ones.

Each morning they gathered around the campfire, huddled beneath their blankets to keep off the early morning chill. They would sip a warm drink, awaken their senses, until they were finally ready to socialize.

This morning he woke her, his movement soft and quiet, but the absence of his warmth shook her from sleep. She rolled onto her back, watched his muscles bend and flex as he pulled on the bits of chainmail and armor plating.

Her eyes slipped closed, her hand falling flat against her belly. She meditated, letting her mind drift into the calm of the moment, seeking out the gentle undulations of magic. Abelas' movements sent out ripples, heavy ripples, filled with warmth. His presence was familiar, one she had grown attached to.

"Did I wake you, ma sa'lath?"

She opened her eyes, rearranged her expression into calm delight.

He leaned across her, lips brushing softly against hers. She moved closer, pressing their mouths together, into something soft and loving. "I shall bring you some tea."

She chuckled. "Let me get dressed. I'll meet you out there."

He slid a hand along her face, thumb gently rolled across the formations of her bones, a caress that left behind a trickle of warmth. He stood up silently and left the tent, closing the flap behind him securely.

She donned her gear, muscles stiff and sore. Their journey had been long and sleeping on the hard earth was no easy task. She stepped outside and found a spot next to Abelas, taking the tea he offered. She was huddled beneath a shared blanket with Abelas, his warmth burning against the cold mist.

"We are close to the Western Approach." Cassandra folded her arms tightly, throwing her weight onto her hip. "We should gather supplies while we can. It is nothing but deserts and wastes."

Lavellan looked around the group, each of them still languid with sleep. "Cassandra and I can head into the city." She nudged her head towards Lake Celestine, a day rides southeast from their camp.

Dorian chuckled. "Cole and I can handle things while you're gone. We promise not to burn anything."

Cole, the poor boy, hid beneath the brim of his hat. His feet were pulled onto the stump with him, knees against his chest, fingers fumbling with coarse bark. "Why would we burn anything? Are we going to burn wood for the campfire?"

The mage shook his head.

Zahirana set down her small tin cup, empty of Atisha's tea. "I saw a woodland in the distance. I can hunt while you're gone."

"It would take you all day to get there," scoffed Sarlen. "You'd have to drag back your kill in the middle of the night."

She smirked, an arrogance that he always managed to coax out of her. "Not as a wolf."

Atisha laughed, a soft sound. "Take one of the harts instead."

"But they are tired," Cole chirped, before heading off to find them. "They need rest too." He had taken a liking to them, mothering them as if they were his own.

"I like being a wolf." She slipped out from underneath the warmth of the fleece, snagged her bow from inside the tent. "I'll have a little practice before I go."

Sarlen shouted after her, "Harellen! You could always invite your brother along."

"You'd only slow me down." She lifted her bow in a half hearted wave goodbye.

She found a good spot on a grassy hill, a decaying tree making a fine target. She meditated for a few moments before firing a few test arrows. She still struggled to make her magic bend to her will, to make it soft and gentle. Smaller game needed smaller arrows and a lot less force. She didn't want a rabbit to explode or burn it to an inedible crisp. Only to pierce its heart, give it a quick clean death.

"Ma sa'lath." She heard his slow approach. He made his steps loud enough for her benefit but despite this they were still very soft against the sighs of grass. He placed hands against the curve of her waist just as she was looking back over her shoulder.

"Vhenan'ara." Zahirana let the firmness of her back rest against the firmness of his chest. "Are you worried about me leaving?"

He gave a soft sound. "Always. I came to speak about something else, however."

She sighed, relishing in the calmness of the moment.

His voice was soft, hesitant in his words, "Are you tired?"

"No more than usual," she humored.

His hands slid across her stomach, words rough with shame. "I have been... selfish, I think, keeping you up all night. I did not consider the toll our journey would have on you."

She laughed, letting it vibrate in her lungs. "If I didn't want to, I'd let you know." She turned around, arms falling around his neck, bow gripped between both hands. "What brought this on?"

He looked away, irritation staining his frown. "The Tevinter mage mentioned it."

"They heard us?" She pressed her warm face into his chest. "Maybe we should move our tent further away from everyone else."

He brushed his lips across her hair, taking in the underlying, sweet scent of sandalwood tangled with the earthiness of dirt and grass. "Before you go, allow me to give advice on your shapeshifting."

She pushed away and attempted to hide the advances of her half-smile. "If you're going to say meditation, I think I'll pass."

Abelas shook his head, pressing his lips thin. But she saw plainly the smile in the corner of his eyes. "When you shapeshift, you pull the magic from inside of yourself forcing it outwards. You destroy your clothes this way. You exhaust your mana."

Zahirana pushed back her hair, tucking strands behind her ear. "The first time I did it..." She couldn't look him in the eye. She stared at her fingers fidgeting with the curved end of the bow. "I was a rebellious child running away from Keeper Athenaya. Sarlen had gone off hunting, as was customary, with the other hunters. I was told to stay in the aravel to read and memorize..."

Abelas placed hands along her arms. He didn't force her to look at him. He knew her words were already shaken. He tried to make his words sound lively, a gentle laugh behind them, "You did not stay, I take it."

"I was so furious that I ran from our camp into the wilds. I could hear the keeper calling my name. At the time I thought she was angry but... Looking back I think she had just been afraid. Enough to yell at me." She laughed then swallowed it hard. "I lost my way, found a pack of wolves. I wanted so badly to run with them, to follow them as they hunted. They were wild and free. All of my emotions consumed me and at that moment nothing mattered except being like them."

He stepped towards her, closing the small space between them, hoping his words brought comfort. "You returned to your clan in the end."

Her fingers sunk down into the fabric of his sleeve. "I didn't return until weeks later. I had forgotten that I was human... Sarlen refused to give up on finding me. He tracked me down. Helped me remember."

He forced her to look at him now. "Never shapeshift under extreme emotions." His glare was firm, eyes intense until she nodded in agreement.

"I've no reason to run away," she assured.

"Ma sa'lath," he sighed. Abelas softened his gaze, almost lazily. "Summon the magic over you, like changing clothes, rather than pulling it from within you."

Her smirk returned. "I will. I'll be alright. It's just hunting."

He placed hands on either side of her face, taking in every feature, memorizing it. "Dareth Shiral."

She lifted up and kissed him. "I'll return home soon."

Home, the word felt odd, fumbling from her mouth.

"Ar lath ma." He kissed her forehead, letting his arms fall away.

She placed a hand against his upper arm. "Ar lath ma." She turned to walk down the small slope, the loss of touch made her feel cold. She glanced over her shoulder at Abelas, ever watchful and worried. The sight of him gave her courage, gave her assurance.

She did as he said. She summoned the dark fur of the wolf, let its warmth wash over her, paws firm against the dirt. The magic felt warm, a thick blanket over her skin, claws and teeth a familiar comfort. She snagged the bow off of the ground, holding it gently between her jaws, and started her sprint towards the dark evergreen in the distance.

It was an ominous darkness, unlike any forest she had seen. Her home in the wilds had been filtered with light, the tall canopy above colored in a rainbow of flowers, the trunks as thick and wide as shemlen homes. This woodland was a shroud of shadow, dark green branches low to the ground, casting a shaded cloak in every corner. The trunks were not as thick but their was little space between for her to move.

She was forced to set down her bow, shift back into her human form. Thankfully, her clothes were intact. She gripped her bow, let it rub against her calloused palm, examined her surroundings. The harts would have had difficulty moving, their large antlers snagging onto every branch. She was small enough to crawl through the underbrush and light enough to climb over low branches.

These woods were quiet, not at all like the wilds she knew. It wasn't teeming with wildlife and the few birds that sung were high up at the tops of the coniferous trees. There were a few older rabbit tracks, mixed with a squirrel's scattered trail. She kept her eyes open for something larger.

She heard movement in the distance, focused her thoughts on it, searched out the energy pulsing in the forest. They were large but it was all she could determine. Her hunter's instincts told her it was a great number, perhaps a herd. She couldn't determine the species and they were too far away to get a clear view.

She followed the brush, her steps resting soft on the balls of her feet. Each movement was muffled by the pine needles littering the ground. The forest was a plethora of scent: smokey cedars laced with citrusy pine needles. The soil had been disturbed by the heavy mist that morning, moistening the dirt and pulling from it the musk of the earth.

She came upon them, crawling over the mound of earth, seeing them down below. It was a gathering of people, ones she thought were traveling merchants. But upon closer inspection, she noticed chains and collars. They were all strung together, each of their handclaps connected to the long chain which was in turn bound to the end of a large enclosed wagon.

She hesitated there, her eyes lingering on the slaves. If she left, she might not be able to find them again. If she attacked, she would be overwhelmed. Bringing back the others gave a better chance of survival and tracking them down might even be easy.

There was movement behind her. She spun around, dagger snagged free of its holster with a flick of her wrist. She slid it across the air, letting it slice from his ear to the corner of his mouth. She didn't hesitate, taking the chance to rush past him. She hadn't expected there to be others, a group of them, which prevented her from making it into the dense underbrush.

She summoned her magic at the very moment of drawing her bow, sweeping her aim across each of them. They were well armed, daggers and swords gathered at their belts, thick hardened leathers covering every inch of them.

The one she cut with her dagger snuck up behind her, snaking an iron arm around her throat. Her arrow let loose, sizzling and crackling through the air, piercing into the chest of one of the slavers. She snarled, jutted her elbow backwards and then her dagger down into the muscle of his thigh. He let her go but there had been so little time to counterattack the approach of the others.

She threw the dagger, her aim precise but reckless. The blade sunk through the bone of his skull, staggering his steps, his body crumpling. The others took pause, giving her a chance to summon her magic around her, forgetting to guide rather than squander. She flourished her hands, the force it knocking back two of the men. She had focused on them too intently to notice another one approach.

He knocked her to the ground and with a solid punch dizzied her vision. She pulled at her magic again, ready to weave it through the air, ready to throw it at the blurry slaver. He used the butt of some object, forced it hard against her skull, this time blackening her vision, her brain swimming in it. Her spell dissipated.

"Spirited thing," one spat, his voice a distant muffle.

"Throw her with others." His voice was closer, likely the one who'd hit her. "She's a mage. She'll make us a good profit."

She tried to fight against the swirl of the sky above, the sinking feeling of falling into nothingness, to see past her dark speck clouding her vision. But it was fruitless. Her thoughts fell away, mind no longer her own, a dark dreaming void of unconscious.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus Scene (for a happier note):  
> "Abelas." Dorian stood next to the smoking fire, the burnt embers smothered beneath dirt. He had his arms folded, a hand against his chin, gazing up as if he were in deep thought.
> 
> Sarlen sat cozy at his feet, sharpening one of his hunting knives.
> 
> "Is this another snide comment about the Elvhen?" He looked up from the rucksack of supplies, gathering everything back together after their morning routines.
> 
> He chuckled. "Actually, I was going to admire your stamina. We spend an entire day trudging through the wilderness, and somehow you still manage to stay up all night with your... dearest love. How do you manage? Magic? A spell of some kind?"
> 
> Sarlen coughed after sucking down a gasp of air too quickly.
> 
> Abelas slowly turned his gaze away, feeling the heat of hatred and embarrassment, his eyes narrowed and mouth thin. He stood up in a quick movement, gripping the bridge of his nose. "This is not a matter I wish to discuss with you," he excused, ready to depart on those words, ready to end the awkward conversation.
> 
> Dorian mumbled loud enough for him to hear but it was mostly for himself. "I wonder if **she** is exhausted. She must be."
> 
> Abelas let his brows rise, shifting in his stance. He hadn't considered such and he hated the idea that the shemlen had. Did she look tired? He couldn't remember if she had been exhausted because of the journey or exhausted because of him.
> 
> He walked away, flustered and irritated, but he hid it best as he could manage.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little violence (not enough to do a warning, I think?? I'm never certain how much is too much e.e;)

She moaned, the sharp throbbing pain of a migraine pounded against her skull. The whole left side of her face seared with heat, swollen and bloody. She had a beautiful black eye. No doubt it matched well with her red stained skin, blood dried stiffly against it. She pressed her hand against the gash that slithered down her temple and along her brow, and found both of her wrists cuffed together.

"Finally awake, are you?"

She rolled her gaze slowly, following the chain towards the woman next to her. She was a rough looking human, hair matted into a nest upon her head, a bandana keeping most of it out of her face. Dirt covered her creamy skin as well as the glint of jewelry: earrings, nose rings, and lip rings.

"What happened?" Her thoughts were still muddled as she tried to remember the events back in the woods and the men who attacked her. Slavers, she thought, reexamining the shackles. They were covered in runes, ones used against mages to prevent the summoning of spells. She would be useless until they were off. She could feel her magic but pulling on it was impossible. It was almost like drowning, seeking air and finding only water.

She laughed, a rough and deep sound. "You're a slave now, lass. Welcome to our little festival." She nudged her head down to the others lining the long chain, each of them cuffed one after the other. The chain connected them all together and in turn was hooked up to the large enclosed wagon.

"Slave," she muttered the word, feeling the taste of ash on her tongue. "Why didn't they just stick us in there? Wouldn't it be easier?"

"That wagon," she humored. "Sorry to break it to you lass, but to them, we ain't nothing more than cattle. They put all their lovely little supplies inside there, precious goods and all."

Slaves, she thought again. That word, it's insidious meaning, made her stomach clench. "We're in Orlais... Isn't it illegal?"

"Don't see anyone bothered by that, do you?" She cast her eyes out onto the slavers, letting it bob over each of their faces. Her eyes were bloodshot, swollen with exhaustion.

She tried to pace her breathing, to take down a deep breath in order to steady her strained voice. "Someone will come for us..."

"Like who, sweetheart?" She pressed her back hard into the tree, pulled her knee up and lounged an arm across it. "The Orlesian army? Sent out here for a couple of lowlifes? You're an elf, mate. Dalish, I'd reckon."

"Surely someone. Guards might see us..."

She sneered, letting it spread wide. "Guards. I'm a thief, Dalish, got caught red handed. Guard sold me for a few pretty silvers. He had no trouble letting slavers take me. No one would notice someone like me gone missing."

"He sold you?" She felt the heat of bile hit the back of her throat as her stomach cramped and clenched.

"Probably tossing that coin at a tavern wench about now. Nobody cares about a knife-ear and a thief, lass." Her lips were hardened thin, grimacing as her eyes rolled up longingly towards the sky. "Maker spit on me..."

She swallowed hard, leaning over and clenching her fists. She was going to be sick. Her head was still spinning and her heart was pounding fiercely. She could feel her whole body tremble, her muscles tensing in order to suppress the weakness.

"We just slaves now, you and I."

"We have to get free..." She clenched her teeth, seeking out anger over fear. Anger was easier to hold, easier to clench onto that fear. It was a twisted gnarled root, tightening inside of her throat and wrapping around her heart.

"You a plan in that pretty head of yours?"

Her brows sagged beneath her defeat. Nothing. She had nothing. Abelas and Sarlen would notice her gone but it would take them time. She had taken days to hunt down prey before. Nothing would seem amiss to them. Sarlen could track her down. He was the best in the clan. They would come. She was holding onto the idea of them coming.

Creators... If the Creators were real... She hoped for them to have mercy on her.

"On your feet!" His steps towards them were hard, pounding against the earth. "We're leaving!" The horses whinnied, a smack of leather and a jingle of harnesses. The wagon groaned, wooden beams creaking and wheels grinding.

Everyone got to their feet, monotonous and unified. She was slower than them, still reeling from the blows to her skull. She was in front, right behind the wagon, all of her fellow slaves at her back. They were slow moving through the thick woods, following a narrow path likely made by merchants passing through. Everyone remained quiet, even the wildlife of the woodlands were silent, cowering away from the moving invaders.

The sounds of the wagon were bittersweet. It sounded like the aravels but twisted by its true purpose, corrupted by the people leading it. They walked late into the evening before settling down to set up camp. The slaves, of course, remained chained where they were. They settled back down, all too familiar with the process.

The slavers threw them pieces of stale bread, dry and hard. She grasped it between her teeth and used both hands to pull off a piece. It hit the bottom of her empty stomach like a rock. Her throat was dry and scratchy but her hunger took precedent.

His laugh drew her attention.

She lifted her gaze up, glaring through her lashes, chewing on the hard bread.

"Not much of a fighter now, are you?" He kneeled down, the side of his face still fresh with the wound she had given him. The deep cut streamed from his ear, along his cheek, and curling along his bottom lip.

Zahirana hadn't planned to waste her energy on him. He was a dog barking on his chain, a brainless beast foaming at the mouth. She would save her energy for an escape.

But he gripped hold of her chin, his large calloused hands taking hold of most of her face. "Tonight, you and me, darling. That's a promise."

She pulled back her lips, a snarl gravely rolling free.

He laughed. "I don't mind a bit of fighting. I can fight just as hard."

Another slaver stomped forward, gripping the man by the collar. "We don't touch the slaves." His voice was rough. He tossed the collar but hardly budged the other slaver. "They're worth more that way. You know the rules."

"Sod the rules," he hissed but he shoved Zahirana's jaw away. "She took down some of our best men. And she owes me for this little pretty." He tapped the fleshy wound, burning his gaze against her. "I'll get every bit I want from you."

Zahirana sneered, she couldn't stop herself as she rose up onto her knees and faced him. "Come closer to my teeth, shemlen, and speak such things."

He huffed. "Arrogant bitch."

She spat, expecting his fury, hoping he would come close enough for her to fight him. It wouldn't get her to freedom but her anger seemed uncontrollable. Slave, that word, made her reckless. She needed a fight, needed to hit something, needed to do something other than waiting around.

He jumped forward, growling his curses, but the other slaver pulled him back, shoved him away from the slave train. They shouted at one another until finally the largest and oldest of the slavers settled the dispute. The camp fell silent for the night, slavers and slaves alike.

Addie tossed her a haughty grin when she thought no one was looking. "That a girl, Dalish."

 

~:~

 

Another day passed before Addie spoke to her again, their conversations had to be brief and hushed. Their words were always in small clips and bits when slavers weren't around. And they always seemed to be around.

They were resting once more and her bones were grateful for it. She was sore, each muscle rolling with stiffness and her joints burned from the exhaustion.

The thief leaned back against another tree, motioning Zahirana to join her. "So Dalish, you want free as much as I do?"

She sat down, grunting and leaning her head back. It wasn't the soft pillow of Skyhold or the bundle of skins from her tent but it was something. "Yes." She rolled her eyes, peering at her from the side.

"We need a plan, 'fore they take us to whatever ship they plan to stick us on."

She shifted against the tree, the left side of her face nearly swollen shut, pulsing with heat. "The Waking Sea is about two days from here, give or take." She wasn't certain to be fair. These woods were unfamiliar and she only had the maps to think back upon. It was their plan to head that way. She just couldn't remember all of the details from the map.

"Alright then, we got a few days."

One of the slavers patrolled by, eyeing them viciously. "Quit your chatting."

Zahirana rolled her gaze away, peering over at the disheveled wagon. She stared into the grains of wood, memorizing the patterns as her eyes slowly slid shut. Sleeping would help time pass and she hoped some plan would form itself. She was too tired and beaten to think of anything useful. In the morning, she would find a way to escape. Two days wouldn't be enough time for her friends, her clan, her family, to reach her.

 

~:~

 

She dreamed of wind sweeping its arm out across the fields of tall grass, their harts grumbling as their journey pressed onward. She could hear the soft chiming giggle of Atisha and the loud bellowing laugh of Sarlen following suit. Something the Inquisitor said had brought it out of them, another story about Skyhold no doubt.

Abelas rode at her side, his hood drawn over his face, but she could see his lips clearly twitch into a moderate smile.

"Vhenan'ara," the word rolled from her tongue, a delicate whisper, a gracious offering of worship and admiration.

He turned his gaze to her, golden eyes glinting in the light of the sun. "Ma sa'lath." He lifted his hand, offering his palm to her. She placed her hand in his, hardly expecting him to lift it gently against his lips, eyes holding hers in a hypnotic gaze.

She giggled, turning her face away, feeling the heat of her blush. "Abelas!" But the heat of her face grew hotter, scalding hot metal searing down her left side, the sweet tang of blood filling her throat causing her to choke.

She gasped, pulling from the dream. She coughed, feeling the thick liquid bite the back of her throat. She spit out blood and bile, wiping her cringing frown with the back of her hand. Her throat was scalded and her mouth coated by the rancid taste.

"Have a nice dream I take it?" Her head was low, eyes peeking up through her messy bangs. "What the blight is an Abelas?"

She pulled in her feet, knees pressed hard against her chest. "He's..." She clenched her eyes closed, trying to remember every curve and dip of his face, the twists of vallaslin, the flecks of gold and amber in his eyes...

"Ah." She grinned, her words tickled from her. "Some sort of lover? Dalish, maybe?"

"He isn't Dalish," she muttered, reaching up to scratch the dried blood from her face, the squish of swollen skin bouncing beneath her fingertips.

"City elf!" she declared with a shocked laugh.

Zahirana shook her head, small smile wavering. "No, he's... Neither. He's a different kind of elf."

"That handsome?" She leaned forward, nudging her with her elbow. "Bet you two have elf babies running around everywhere."

She gripped her stomach, pressing her fingers there. "We don't have any."

"Ah." She leaned back against the tree.

"Two of you shut up," snarled the man next to them. He shifted in his seat against his own tree. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Shove it, you old codger." She flicked her chin at him. "I can fix your ears if you don't like hearing."

He grunted in reply.

"Listen here, Dalish." She leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper.

"Zahirana." She turned in her seat, facing her, pressing her swollen face against the tree. "My name is Zahirana."

Her brow lifted. "Did my endearment offend you, lass? I apologize."

She smiled weakly then let it fade. "No. I just realized I didn't tell you my name."

"Addie." She rolled her gaze over her shoulder. "Listen. We don't have much time. I'm good at picking locks. If we could get our hands on something, I can get these cuffs off of us."

Zahirana lifted hers into view. "If you can get mine off, I can fight. My magic won't work with them on."

"A mage, eh?" She stared down into the dirt muttering mostly to herself, "Guess that's not the worse thing in the world."

"Where would we even get lockpicks?" She tried not to shudder. The cold night air, their conversation, the suspicious eyes of passing guards... All of it made her tremble. She reached up beneath her scarf and gripped the dragon bone pendant, holding onto it like holding onto her courage.

Addie nibbled on the inside of her lip. "Better yet, if we find the man who has the key..."

"Are you an expert at pickpocketing?"

She sneered, toothy and cocky. "All we need is a distraction, lass. That codger over there might do just fine." She lowered her shoulder, giving the elf a good view of the grisly older man.

Zahirana shook her head, her neck stiff and sore. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe I pick a fight with him. Maybe they need to unshackle the poor sod and get him medical attention. That means the key will be over here... That means we can grab it."

"You'll need a second distraction."

She eyed her with a nod of her head. "Right you are, Dalish. Maybe we get into an argument and they break us apart. Sure would give me enough time to snag the key, eh?"

Zahirana scanned their surroundings, the soft light of dawn peeking over the horizon, the camp rustling awake. "When it gets darker." She pressed her lips thin and hard.

"That's good thinking. Be ready when it happens, lass. We need to make it real." She pulled away, rubbing her back stiffly across the tree trunk. She sighed against it, her whole body slumped over and defeated.

It was moments later that they were walking again, out of the woodlands and onto the plains. In the distance, lying flat against the horizon, was the dusty tan outline of the Western Approach. Deserts and wastes, Cassandra had said. And their convoy was heading straight for it. The sea was to their right, towards the north. They weren't heading for a ship, at least not that she could tell. They were heading for the Western Approach.

"Addie," she whispered, glancing over her shoulder.

She peered up through her lashes, face molded by exhaustion. "Miss me already, lass?"

She stepped to the side, turning as best she could while keeping in step. "They're taking us into the desert."

"Ah." She nibbled on the inside of her cheek, pulling the flesh between her teeth. "If we do it, we do it before that. We won't last in the desert."

A slaver walked by, their words ceasing and their eyes averting elsewhere, anywhere. She buried her nails into her palm, focusing on the pinch of skin rather than the clench of her heart. Slave, the word echoed, resounded, inside of her thoughts. She was Dalish, strong-willed and resilient. She was not a slave. They would have to kill her before she would ever submit.

They were turning slightly north, following the rolling hills of the valley, the grasses become less and less, lighter in color, yellowed by the heat of the sun. Their convoy was between the Waking Sea and the vast deserts of the Western Approach. And sadly, the desert was closer.

They settled down earlier than usual, the slavers muttering to each other about the desert heat, waiting until nightfall to move again. Zahirana let her gaze wander over to Addie, her shoulders slumped over and her eyes peering up at them with analytical hatred.

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground made her jump, jolting her attention to a slaver looming over her like a proud and cocky tyrant. "Drink." He lifted the small tin cup out of the bucket, water sloshing around.

She took it awkwardly between her hands, gulped down quickly before he had time to take it away. Her throat was still dry and scratchy and her stomach had been an empty well. It wasn't enough water but it was all he would give. She handed it back to him, making sure her gaze lingered with his. He moved down the line, unphased, letting each slave drink a cup of water from the bucket.

"Soon," Addie muttered, twirling a blade of grass between her forefingers.

Zahirana rolled her eyes to the horizon, the sun glimmering salmon pink. She clenched her jaw, kept back all of the shudders and trembles. Her heart was racing and adrenaline flooded her senses. Her magic would have spilled out of her mindlessly if she wasn't being bound against it.

The sun dipped low and her eyes adjusted. She flicked her gaze to Addie, peering at her from the side. They exchanged glances briefly before Addie turned away.

"Maker, you stinkin codger!" Addie kicked his foot away. "Keep your blighted feet on your side. Is it too much to ask, man!"

"Kick me again, wench." He bared his teeth, kicking up the dirt.

Addie sat up, her shoulders stiff and her chin high. "You want to brawl, old man?"

He jerked at his shackles, pulling at the chain between them. Addie gave a low growl, leaping towards the sneering fool. Her fists were quick, the senseless brawl ensuing. They scrapped like drunken induced fools, rolling, punching, and kicking, dragging the rest of the enslaved line with them.

The slavers rushed over, two of their largest pulling them apart.

"Enough!" One of the slavers had Addie pinned against a tree.

She sneered through her bloodied lip, spitting blood onto the ground.

The others tended to the older man. Addie had done a great deal of damage in that short time, his face was bloodied, hardly distinguishable. He lay on his side, gripping at his broken ribs.

"Someone bring over the herbs."

"Get him off the line," added another, the oldest of the slavers. "We'll need to patch him up before we leave." He seemed to sigh, gripping at his forehead with irritation.

One of the slavers pulled a key from his side, unchaining his shackles from the line. Two of them lifted the old man off the dirt and dragged his body way.

Addie was let free.

Zahirana quickly took the chance, jumped into being the second distraction. "You're not going to leave me next to her, are you? She's obviously insane!"

Addie spat blood onto the ground again, using her sleeve to wipe her lip. "Scared of me, knife-ear!"

Zahirana jumped to her feet, letting her anger ensue. "Call me knife-ear again," she dared. She didn't wait for Addie to keep the argument going. She leapt forward before the slavers could get involved but they were quicker in their response time.

He had Addie against the tree and another grappled Zahirana.

She was a rogue, however, and nimble despite being chained up. She wormed her way free, swinging the metal of her large shackle against his face, slicing the skin along his jaw. It was quick, quicker than she imagined. He had her on the ground, adding bruises on top of bruises, reopening the gash. He stood up, giving one final kick to her stomach and ribs.

She lied still, the slavers giving a final warning about anymore quarrels.

Addie dropped down, planting her back firmly against the tree. She dropped her forehead into her hand, lips curled downwards. Niether of the slavers to deal with them had been the one with the key. "He was too far away."

She dug her fingers into the dusty dirt, her warm skin relishing in the light coolness of earth. Her body ached, throbbed, with the agony. She closed her eyes in hopes to keep back any tears that threatened. It was quiet for the longest time. Finally, Zahirana muttered weakly, "We need a new plan."

Addie lifted her head. "Not giving up hope, eh?"

She would fight. She would bite and claw her way to freedom if need be. She had a family to return to, a clan that she felt kindred to. She couldn't give up, not with Abelas pacing as his worry grew. Sarlen's hatred would boil the longer she was gone. Atisha might soothe their fears for a time but...

Zahirana let the silent tears leak free, streaming across her cheeks and pooling along the dip in the bridge of her nose. Cold tears, cooler than the fire of her bruised and swollen face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter. I've been fighting with it for a few weeks now, editing and changing things. I do love Addie, though, probably more than I should.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These past few chapters have been... difficult to write. I apologize that it has taken me this long to post it. I've gone through and edited it so many times just to make sure it was decent ^^;
> 
> Suggestive rape/non-con

They camped longer, likely tending to the man Addie had beaten senseless. The campground was loud but none of it came from the slaves. Not a single one of them moved, not a chain rattled, not even a cloaked whisper. The day slithered onward and Zahirana still lied crumpled on the ground. Her hair was thick with dirt, clumped with leaves and grasses. The earth smelled of citrus and onion, fresh, but tainted by the sour scent of blood.

As the sun dipped closer to the horizon, camp was pulled up and stowed away into the wagon. "On your feet," a slaver barked, the wagon creaking and groaning as the horses began their trotting march forward.

They stood up in unison, Addie lifting her up onto her feet, the cold of the night chilling them down to their bones. They were exhausted. Their small break wasn't enough to make up for their trek. And Zahirana felt every bruise and every tender muscle with each step. Her eyes burned with salty tears but mostly the aftermath of swollen lesions.

They walked well into the night, reaching their destination just as the sun was peeking over the horizon. It was a fort. Perhaps not as large as Skyhold but it's walls were immense and scattered about its battlements were high towers. Zahirana dug her nails into her palm, letting her gaze sweep across each of the guards walking the fort's spine, and standing at its mouth were more guards, armed and stern.

"You were expected two days ago." One approached, eyeing the line of slaves, his plated armor clattering with each step.

The oldest of the slavers growled, "Unless our smuggler is here, I don't want to hear a word about it." He spat onto the earth, swiping a thumb across his hard lips.

The other grumbled, flicking a nod over his shoulder. "Get them inside. The boss is waiting. Wants a report and a head count."

They slunk in behind the walls, wagon parked at the entrance, slaves herded down the stairs into the dark underground. She sucked down a breath of stale air, flinching the further they headed into the darkness, as if touching it would burn her skin, as if looking upon it would jab out her eyes.

Her feet were weary, shuffling and hesitant until a soft orange glow came into view. Torchlight. A dungeon lined with jail cells. And not a single window in sight.

"That one's a mage," a slaver informed one of the prison guards.

He grimaced, eyeing her hesitantly.

Zahirana was removed from the line but her shackles remained. He shoved her inside the cell, Addie following close behind. Two to a cell, herded and collared, a procession that had been practiced and perfected. They removed the shackles once the slaves were safely behind bars. They left them alone, the heavy door of the dungeon slamming closed.

Addie stood, leaned her side into the bars. "Love the smell of a moldy cell. Nothing like it in all the world, really."

Zahirana paced, a wild animal stressing under the weight of captivity. The darkness, even lit softly by the fire, was too much. She thought back on the cave and the helplessness of being trapped. No exit, her mind echoed. There was no way to escape. Abelas had been there, his presence comforting, but he was nowhere near her now. He would have noticed her absence by now, the pain and fear of losing her.

Addie began singing, some sort of tavern song. A few of the others joined in, somehow familiar with the words. It was an upbeat song and it took her mind off of the cave, and off of the thick darkness surrounding them. It made her think of Abelas' rare smiles, of Atisha and Sarlen giving words of encouragement.

Zahirana found herself leaning her back against the bars, fingers fumbling around the icy, calloused metal.

Addie somehow pulled out a gentle smile. "Calm down, lass. I'll get us out of here."

She glanced at her, breathing deep then slowly letting it out. "How?"

"She's insane," muttered a slave, the cell across from them. "There's no way out. Just keep your head down and you might make it out of here with your mind intact."

Addie sneered. "I'm no slave! ...And I'm not keeping my head down. I'm getting out."

The heavy door creaked open, silencing them before an argument could break out. The slavers marched in, stopping before their cell. "This one, sir."

A slaver they hadn't seen before let his eyes slide across Addie. "You killed the old man?" He was draped in embroidered cloth and stitched silks. The glint of jewels and gold lined his neck and wrists. He wasn't like the other slavers.

"Killed, did I?" Addie shrugged her shoulder. "I guess I did."

He wasn't amused. His face was stone, carved into a permanent scowl. "Chain her. Bring her upstairs. We'll break her spirit before the captain gets here."

"Yes, sir. Through the bars, slave. Put your wrists out."

"Addie," Zahirana muttered, lips quivering into a grimace.

"I'm alright, lass." Addie took her time, plastering her smirk into place. She put her wrists through the bars, let him clap the shackles back onto her wrists. Cautiously, they steered her out of the cell and down the hall to the door.

Zahirana leaned against the bars, watched her go. She slid down the cold metal and curled into a ball. She feared the worst. What horrors would they do to her? How would they break her spirit? She'd heard horror stories about the shemlen and about what they did to elves. Addie wasn't an elf but she was a slave. And slaves were not people to their capturers.

They needed a plan. Abelas and Sarlen might not reach them in time.

Her stomach tightened with both hunger and fear. She wrapped her arms around herself, as best as the shackles allowed, pressed her clenched eyes into her knees. She tried to sleep but it was impossible. She was exhausted, her whole body could feel it, but her mind was incapable to resting. All she could do was imagine the torture Addie was going through. The darkness of the dungeon was deafening, straining against her eardrums. She could almost hear distant screams and cries for help but she couldn't be certain if it was her mind tricking her. Or if Addie truly was calling out her name.

Hours passed. Perhaps even a day. Time was incomprehensible in the darkness.

The door creaked open, a slaver dragging Addie behind him. She stepped inside the cell, her hair a disheveled curtain hiding her expression. She sat down slowly once the cell door slammed shut and the shackles were removed.

"What did you do to her?" Zahirana hissed just as the guard was stepping away.

He sneered, eyes meeting hers. "The same thing that'll happen to you tomorrow, knife-ear." He walked away haughtily, his steps heavy across the hard stone.

"Addie." Zahirana crawled her way over.

"I'm fine." She turned her head away, somehow making herself smaller against the corner. She pressed her side into the wall, refusing to look even as Zahirana placed a soft hand on her arm. "Just go, mate. I don't want to talk about it."

Her jaw clenched, teeth pressed firm into each other. "What happened? I feared the worst."

Addie sighed but she didn't move. "Worst happened, lass."

Zahirana slipped a soft hand against her cheek, turning her head to let the torches gleam across it. Her face was bruised, lips busted in different locations. "Addie," she sighed. The lesions snaked their way down her face and along her throat. She was beaten and worse. Her shackles had chafed away the skin all along her bruised arms.

"I'll live..."

She jutted her jaw, lips tense with rage. "I will kill them for this."

She laughed breathily, voice cracking when she spoke, "Gotta get free for that, Dalish."

They fell silent, huddled against the bars. She must have fallen asleep, face pressed against her bony knees. The eerie sound of the door startled her from an imperceptible dream. She shifted on the floor, fingers wrapping around the iron bar.

"On your feet, slaves."

She gritted her teeth, slowly standing tall, shoulders pressed down and chin lifted high. The moment she was free, the moment she could attack, she would. She would get revenge. For Addie and for any other slave they dared to harm. For all of her ancestors who had suffered at the hands of similar slavers. She'd make them suffer.

They shackled slaves, lined them up, and herded them back upstairs. They didn't bother with the long chain, binding them together. Instead, they lined them up for inspection, like a human market on display. The bitter light of noon scorched her vision. It took her time to adjust to the harsh change,

"What the blight is this?" The man next to him threw up his hands. He was a human, draped in leathers, shirt gaping open, and his hair messily thrown back out of his face.

Her eyes found his face, the slaver who had taken Addie, she stared into him. "Your cargo, Captain," the slaver retorted, hands tucked casually behind him. He was obviously in charge. His prestigious clothes and his stance amongst the others said as much.

"Andraste's ass, man. You never said anything about slaves!" He turned to the slave leader, hand placed onto the hilt of his sword, his golden skin gleaming under the sun.

The slaver lifted his head. "I shouldn't have to."

His brows drew together, the mop of hair falling into his face as he leaned forward. "Cargo, man. You said cargo. I'm a smuggler. Not a slaver."

The slaver finally turned and stepped toward him, more determined than ever. "You want my coin in your pocket? You'll be whatever I need you to be. I'm paying you to be a slaver."

His jaw flexed, lips parting in disbelief. "I need to speak with my crew. They will decide whether or not we take your bloodied coins." He turned on his heel and plodded over to a gathering of men, sailors and smugglers alike. They spoke, in hushed voices, but it was obvious they were angry. Hands were thrown into the air and brows were drawn together, fierce glances daggered towards the slaves.

Zahirana rolled her gaze from the men to the slave leader. She wouldn't be able to take him out with magic. She'd have to rely on her skill as a scout and her skill alone was nothing. She was a simple hunter, nothing more. Her eyes surveyed for a weapon. It would have to be quick, her attack. There was too much distance and too many slavers between.

"Alright, my boys will take them." He rolled his gaze over to them, eyes hesitating on her and Addie, the bloodiest and bruised of all the slaves. He swallowed hard and turned away, face coated in disgust.

The slaver smiled, something wicked and fierce. "Wonderful. My men will escort them, of course. This cargo is too precious to be lost."

The captain threw a look over his shoulder and nodded. "We leave now. I want this over with." He flicked a finger, drawing his men to take action. They shuffled forward, meeting with the slavers in the middle. They gathered around the slaves like wolves surrounding rabbits. They were herded again, out of the fort and onto the worn path towards the Waking Sea.

Zahirana searched for a weapon on the belts of those around her. She could grab a blade, use it to kill a few slavers. But the crew, they were larger in number. It would be too much for her to take on. She wouldn't get the revenge she needed.

"Captain," he spoke, one of the smugglers, breaking the quiet.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes rolling from the man to the rest of his crew. "Job first, men. We'll get besotted after."

It took half a day to reach the Waking Sea and a small rickety dock reaching out from the shore to the belly of the ship. The trip had been a silent one, full of tense movements and bitter glowers. The slaves all but kept their heads down, unwilling to incur the wrath of the smugglers and the slavers.

"Get the sails ready," ordered the captain, walking along the large plank of wood and onto the deck. "The slaves will have be chained down in the cargo hold."

"You heard the man," shouted one of the slavers. He herded the front of the group towards the center of the deck. "One down at a time."

The captain threw the hatch open, wood slamming against wood, before climbing down the creaking ladder. He dropped half way and in the small beam of light flicked his fingers at them above. "Send one down here."

"The mage first," someone barked.

Zahirana stepped forward, each movement filled with as much courage and dignity as she could muster. One gripped her shoulder and shoved her forward causing her to grit her teeth. It was awkward climbing down the ladder with shackled wrists. She dropped towards the end, bare feet splashing into the icy water.

The captain pulled her back, pressed an index finger to his lips, and gave a soft, "Shh. Be ready to take one out." He turned his eyes to the other smugglers who had been sitting on their bunks.

It took her a minute to process what the man had said. Was he going to incite a riot, a revolt against the slavers? Her heart sped, both with hope and laughter. She bit her lip hard, sinking her teeth into the already split skin, savoring the blood on her tongue. She would get her revenge after all.

A few more slaves were sent down before Addie came into view. She shuffled towards Zahirana. Instincts made her protective, standing before Addie in case the revolt went bad. She wasn't going to let the thief receive any more injuries than necessary.

The slavers slowly followed down, hardly aware of the impending attack. The smugglers were ready, armed, and eager to follow their captain's orders. Zahirana was ready, a cat tense before the leap, eyes fixated on the prey, teeth clenched and anticipating.

"Why aren't they chained up," a smuggler growled, pointing his finger.

The captain looked towards some of his men and gave a nod of his head. With that single gesture his crew was drawing their weapons, swords and daggers. Zahirana jumped towards the closest slaver, snatching his dagger from his hilt and burying it up underneath his ribs. The crew slit the throats of those closest to them, throwing down their bodies. They cheered and roared with the excitement.

The captain kneeled down, digging around in the pocket of a slaver. He lifted a key and stepped towards the closest slave. Addie shifted, pressing her shoulder into Zahirana. They exchanged glances, ones of relief lingering with fearful uncertainty.

He removed Addie's shackles then turned to Zahirana. He hesitated, rolled his eyes up to her face, eyes darting across her wounds. "You're a mage?" He scratched his thumbnail along his stubbled chin.

She smirked, her anger and her hatred seeping from her. The moment he took off her shackles, she knew, oh how she knew. She would return to the fort and she would slaughter every single one of them.

"We'll leave," Addie spoke up, gripping hold of her elbow. "You'll get no trouble from us."

He looked at his crew before twisting the key. The heavy runed metal fell away, clanking into the floor. "You're free to go. Our ship is always looking for more crew if you want to come with us." His eyes lingered on her. He slowly backed away, wearily waiting for his crew to follow and for any slaves who might join him.

"Lass, we're free. No need for us to stay here any longer." Addie tugged her elbow again.

"Which one hurt you?" She slowly moved her eyes across the crumpled bodies of the slavers then back to Addie.

She bit down on her swollen lip. "It don't matter. It's done. Let's leave while we still can."

Zahirana placed a soft hand on both of her shoulders. "Which one?"

Addie shuddered out a breath of air. She swallowed hard before muttering, "There was... more than one of them." The edge of her lips pulled down hard, tears glistening in her eyes.

She pressed her teeth hard together, hard enough she thought they might crack. "They deserve their fate." She barely recognized her voice, the hatred assaulting it. "I will return after it's over." She climbed the ladder to the deck and walked passed the gathering of crew without hesitation.

Addie pleaded after her but the change had already begun, teeth and claws breaking free from their magical restraint. She would kill every single one of them whether they touched Addie or not.

She marched her way back to the colossus stronghold, it's high stone walls were not half as intimidating as they had been while she was shackled. She was free from their hideous bindings, no longer pressed beneath their control.

Her magic bristled, writhed and seethed across her skin. She thought of the men who'd forced themselves on Addie. She remembered the slavers who had beaten her until she was weak against the earth. She remembered her promise to get revenge, spitting in the face of a slaver when he thought he had bested her.

She let it consume her thoughts as she approached the gates of the fort. The guards posted drew their weapons. She lifted her hands, focused on the blood coursing in their veins, focused on the magic that pulsed inside of them, and with a flick of her wrist they were on their knees screaming.

She snagged weapons from one of the guards, a sword and a dagger. She walked past them to the heart of the fort, the bustle and shouts of slavers as they hurried to defend her onslaught. She threw the dagger across the courtyard, the short blade hitting hard. She used the sword on the closest one, driving it deep into his fleshy abdomen.

Up above in the gleam of the sun were the violet sparks of lightning, licking at the wooden structures and slick stone walls. It was magic, dense and heavy, shrouding across her connection with the Beyond. It tugged at her own magic, drawing goosebumps across her skin.

Zahirana just barely saw him, his face distorted with rage and eyes glazed over with the burning violet. He summoned another wave of energy, bending and twisting it, readying to aim it towards the shouting slavers. He growled, a deep and unfamiliar sound, "Release her!"

Sarlen hurried to her side, his face awash with relief. "Da'assan." He stepped towards her with open arms but she flinched away, her instincts clouded and weary.

"Sarlen," she stated it matter of factly, apathetic and bold. "The Waking Sea. There are slaves who need your help finding the Inquisitior."

He was frozen for a moment, confused by her request and the strange unfamiliar visage he'd never seen from her. "I'll go but... get over to Abelas. He needs help." Sarlen trotted off, footsteps light against the earth and quick as a Dalish Hunter was trained to be.

Zahirana walked further into the fort, lifting her eyes up to the battlements. "Abelas!"

His anger slowly softened, the heat of lightning and the cold press of magic faded. The air ceased to crackle and his gaze frantically searched for her. At the sight of her, his steps swayed almost drunkenly. "Ma sa'lath..." He turned and threw a blast of energy towards the approaching slavers knocking them from the wall. He leapt down the wooden scaffolding, gracefully until his feet landed onto the ground.

She looked at the agony held in his amber eyes, the fear that distorted his features. She wasn't certain what he saw in her expression or rather what he didn't see. She couldn't feel an expression. She could barely feel her rage. It had welded itself inside of her, becoming a part of her, a natural piece of her like blood and bones.

Archers readied their arrows, fire glistening on the ends, small dragons hissing through the air. Abelas guided his magic, flourishing his hand across the air and pulling up a glass wall to shield them both. The arrows were thrusted away, their fires lapping wildly at the straw spilling from the stables.

She allowed the wolf to take over, it's fierce ravenous hatred clawing over her skin, her mind clouded by the hunt. Her ears pounded, blocking out the noises around her. Her senses were centered on attacking, taking down anything that moved. Bones shattered in the grip of her jaws and their warm blood drizzled through her teeth, sliding down her throat.

She snarled, her body shaken by the hard hit of an arrow to her shoulder. She cast her attention towards an archer and standing next to him was the slaver she had been hunting for, their pompous leader.

He had hurt Addie. He had beaten her. He had destroyed her. He had raped her. He had let the others do the same. A twisted game to him were the lives of others. She would end his game for good.

She snapped her jaws along the arrow's shaft, splintering it in half, blood and spit dripping. She rushed forward, dodging the next arrow, and rammed the archer hard against the door. In one brief instance, she twisted her form until her head swung around and took hold of the leader's arm. She jerked, pulling him off of his feet.

His sword was drawn and in an effort to survive he thrusted it towards her head. The edge of the blade slid across her muzzle but she didn't feel the pain, not yet. She was too focused, too determined, and her teeth were already lunging forward, clamping around his throat. His neck collapsed and snapped beneath her teeth.

She dropped the dead weight and turned her eyes to the rest of the fort. Fire and smoke coated the air. Blood coated the earth. She walked through it, seeking out any who might still be alive, any who might stir before her presence. It was silent save the crackling of fire and the sizzling of heated air. And then the distant sounds of battle, metal clashing together until the fall of silence.

"Zahirana!" He called out, voice familiar and yet unfamiliar, a distant memory, a faded and forgotten dream. His hand was lifted to his face, shielding his eyes against the blazing heat. He was bloody, returning from a skirmish further inside of the belly of the fortress.

She growled and stalked her way around him, sizing up her newest enemy.

"Zahirana," he muttered the name, his steps wearily ceasing.

She snapped her jaws, a fierce warning that she wasn't to be trifled with. She was prey to no creature. She was wild. She was untamed. She was a beast of nature, a huntress, and no one would bring her down.

She leapt up the stone stairs towards the battlements and jumped her way down the crumbling wooden structures out of the fort. Her paws hit the brush of grass. She raced to freedom, across the flat plains, until the heavy sounds of footfalls caught her ears. She skidded to a stop, sliding around to face her opponent. Never again would she submit. Never again would she be a slave. She would die before they took her. She would die before returning to that darkness.

He stopped as well, eyes seeking something in hers. "Ma sa'lath, I beg you..." He took a step forwards, hand reaching out, but it was too much for her. He was an enemy... and yet, her instincts told her to run.

She darted again, desperate to get away, desperate to be free. The taste of blood was still fresh. Her guilt and hatred tasting of one flavor. She tried to remember why she was angry. She tried to remember why she had attacked and why she was running.

She broke through the woodline, leaping and weaving through the hips of trees. But the wide river forced her to stop. She spun around and faced him once more. She growled, lowered her head, and paced along the riverbank. It didn't matter why she was angry. Not anymore. She was angry and she would focus on it.

He averted his eyes downward while dropping to his knees. "Ma sa'lath."

She growled and hissed, her teeth plainly exposed. Blood dripped from her wounds, pooling and pouring at her feet. She felt no pain not in the apex of her adrenaline rush.

He lifted his head skyward, eyes closed, exposing plainly his neck, offering it to her. He lifted his palms, almost worshipping her, but moving no further. "Ma emma sa'lath. I am yours."

She panted, her blood and the blood of others, turning sour and bitter. She stopped pacing. His scent lingered in the air, wafting past the blood that soaked her fur and tongue. She breathed deeper, the scent so familiar. His voice was familiar. Ma sa'lath... It's meaning felt so distant yet incredibly important.

He was submitting to her, this much she knew. His heart was pounding, pulse tainted with fear. He was no threat to her. She sighed and let the hatred roll off of her. The magic seering her skin fell away until she was a cold and shivering form. She pressed her palms into the mossy ground and let her hair fall like a shroud over her features. She breathed deep, letting the hot hair fill her lungs, her body wavering in euphoria.

"Ma sa'lath," he whispered it with religious conviction. He hurried forward but she jerked away, her gaze unable to meet his, and it shuddered him to a halt. "Zahirana?"

Her lips pulled down and her gaze burrowed into her knees. "Don't. I'm... covered in blood." She was soaked with it, its fading warmth leaving behind only a sticky mess. It coated her mouth and throat, coated her human nose until it's metal was all she could smell.

"We are both covered in blood."Abelas removed his gauntlets and tossed them down. He shimmied out of the cloth jacket, bundled it up, and walked towards the river.

Her words were low, soft mumblings, "What are you doing?" She looked over her shoulder, arms wrapping around herself in hopes to keep from falling apart. She felt hollow, her fear raw and exposed before her. She had been so afraid and so useless. She couldn't help Addie, couldn't prevent what happened. If they had taken her next, she wouldn't have been able to stop them.

He dipped his jacket into the water, wrung out the excess, and kneeled down beside her. His hands were soft, shaky with hesitation and adrenaline. The cold water was a relief to her hot swollen flesh but a chilling bite that left her bones aching.

He cleaned the blood from her face. He had tried to keep his mask in place but the sight of her bruised skin, the old and new cuts were too much to stomach. "Did they... hurt you?" He could see the physical damage. He worried more about what he couldn't see.

She shook her head, hardly trusting her voice.

"You are safe," he whispered it but his tone was firm. Abelas gently pushed her blood soaked hair out of her face, tucked what he could behind her ear. "Take off your armor. I will clean it while you bathe."

She was frozen in place, her armor a secure binding against anything that might attack. She didn't want to remove it. She was too afraid and exposed, even with his presence next to her. She stared into the ground, her breath rhythmic and hypnotic.

He placed a hand against her cheek, softly turned her head to look at him. "Do you trust me, ma sa'lath?"

Her mouth quivered, eyes batted back the tears. "Abelas... Vhenan'ara." Her breath stuttered out passed her lips. "I'm..." Afraid, she wanted to say but she felt like the word alone would leave her even more vulnerable, that admitting it would kill her.

"No one will harm you. Ever." He left his hand against her cheek, thumb moving across her high cheekbone. "I will protect you." He leaned forward, pressed his forehead against hers, clenched his eyes closed.

She finally whispered, "I trust you." She unfastened the belts of her armor, sliding out of leathers and chainmail, the deep wound in her shoulder blade and ribs all the more evident. She handed each piece to him, his eyes never leaving her face. She stood up slowly, naked and shivering, and padded her way to the whispering splashes of the river.

She sat down on the edge, knees against her chest, ankles crossed. She laid her head down against her knee, stared a hole into the gray blue waters, admired the light trickling and reflecting across its skin. She wasn't ready to wash away the evidence of her actions. Blood magic. She had used blood magic. She had killed them. And she did not regret it.

Abelas kneeled down behind her, pressed his chest against her back, his face down onto the bend of her neck. "I shall not fail you again." His arms encased her, cold sleek armor against her frozen skin.

Her tears leaked past her fluttering eyelids. "You didn't."

"I have failed too many times," he whispered, his sorrow extending to events past and present. He had failed Mythal, failed in the guarding of The Well of Sorrows, failed in keeping his people safe. Now, he believed he had failed her too.

She twisted in his arms, curled up against his chest, wrapped her fingers over the collar of his breastplate. "You didn't fail me. This couldn't have been prevented." She didn't believe her own words. If she had been stronger, if she had more skill, she could have protected herself.

He held her firm against him, a hand cupped against her head. "This won't happen again," he vowed.

She sighed. Her hatred and rage, her vicious attack and the attacks made against her, left here drained and exhausted. She closed her eyes, tears leaking passed her hard pressed lids. She would feign strength and courage, pretend nothing happened to her while she was gone. She would sleep it off and think of it all as a hideous nightmare.

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have an awesome Easter! Here's a bonus scene plus some good news! ^-^b

"Leliana wrote that our troops will arrive by tomorrow." Lavellan's voice was loud enough to startle Zahirana from sleep. "We will remain at the fort, rebuild its walls, and use it as a base for our passing forces."

She breathed deep the citrus scent of sap and the earthy aroma of freshly ground elfroot. Her face felt warm and her fingers found the sticky residue of healing herbs smeared across her wounds. She let her eyes pry open, catching sight of Abelas sitting in the corner of their tent, holding the flap open. His eyes were focused on Lavellan and Atisha across the campfire, no doubt listening in.

She attempted to sit up but all of her muscles were sore, the days' events finally taking their collective toll.

Abelas jolted his concerned gaze to her. He let the flap fall away, closing away the sunlight. He moved over to her side in a single movement, hands helping her lie back down. "You are too weak. Rest. Let the herbs and Atisha's magic do their job."

She let her back press into the hard earth, her spine firm against it. "Abelas," she let his name roll off of her tongue, pleased to finally speak it again. She lifted a hand and he took it quickly, pressing her curled fingers against his lips.

"Rest, ma sa'lath."

She smiled ever so slightly, nearly ready to slip into sleep when she remembered the scattered events. "Addie? The other slaves?"

Abelas slightly clenched her hand. "They are safe. The Inquisitor has taken them in."

Zahirana let all of her tension go, relaxing the stiff muscles and the achy bones. Her body could be healed easily, Atisha would make certain of it. It was her mind that needed time, her memories that needed mending. "Abelas," she wanted to tell him everything, all of her agony, but she swallowed it all. If she told him, his guilt would increase and he would only blame himself. She smiled, sighed, and closed her eyes, fighting back the sting of tears. "I have missed you."

"You shall not leave my sight again," he vowed it with religious vindication.

She wanted to protest but she could hear the distinct annoyance of Sarlen outside of the tent. Dorian was pleading with him to "let her rest" and something about "Abelas' fury".

"She is **my** family!" Sarlen barked, "I have the right to check on her!"

"I have been... unkind to the others." Abelas rolled his gaze away, childish almost and bitter. "I may have ordered them to stay away from you."

"Vhenan'ara," she scolded, lips tugging into a grin.

"They should not have convinced me to let you go," he stated matter of factly. He reached behind him and opened the flap of the tent, eyeing Sarlen fiercely. "She is awake now."

Sarlen hurried forward, feet kicking up dust and dropping down onto his knees. "Da'assan. Zahirana."

"I'm alright," she jeered, slapping his shoulder. "You should know by now: I'm invincible."

Sarlen muttered a few curses under his breath. "You ever scare any of us like that again... I'll make sure you wish you weren't invincible."

Addie cleared her throat. She stood awkwardly in the mouth of the tent, her bruised and swollen lips pulled wide into a smile. But she'd been cleaned of all the dirt and grime, her creamy golden skin lit by the sun. "Room for another?"

Zahirana grinned widely, pleased to see her, pleased to see that she had made it safely. "Of course you can."

"It would seem like the whole camp would like to gather here," grumbled Abelas.

Addie hurried forward with a cocky smirk, taking hold of Zahirana's hand. "Damn, knife-ear," she muttered it, soft and lovingly.

Sarlen clenched his fists, eyes narrowing into slits.

"Thief," Zahirana retorted. "Let's get some drinks in here, Sarlen."

Abelas groaned, something completely unlike him. "Absolutely not, ma sa'lath. You need to heal."

Addie grinned childishly, sitting down and throwing a thumb over at Abelas. "Must be that handsome lover I heard about."

Zahirana shook her head, somewhat amused by that and Abelas' blank expression. "Yes. This is Abelas. And that is Sarlen, my clan brother."

"I've met your clan brother," spat Addie. "He certainly seems loud enough."

"Shemlen," he growled.

"Sarlen," Zahirana laughed, clamping her eyes closed. "Addie is a friend. She jokes. A lot. But she is a friend."

"About those drinks," Addie added. "I could certainly use one."

Sarlen got to his feet. "Yeah, yeah. I'm on it."

Abelas cocked his head, firm and annoyed.

"I won't drink any," she assured, unable to resist cupping a hand against his cheek, a sudden swollen ache inside of her chest.

"Maybe I'll leave you two lovebirds alone." She threw a wink. "I'll keep your tit of a brother busy." She was out of the tent before anyone had anything else to say.

Zahirana patted the space next to her. "Please. Rest with me at least."

His eyes rolled closed and his expression was gripped between exhaustion and worry. He lowered himself down, sliding his head onto her stomach and a hand against her thigh. "Mythal's mercy." He nuzzled his cheek against her abdomen after she raked fingers through his hair.

"She showed a great deal of mercy," she reassured, hoping her words were confident enough, hoping her mask was well placed. She supposed she was lucky, luckier than Addie. Despite this, she still felt the constant fear and anxiety of being in danger. What if something like that happened again? She knew it was unlikely, she knew Abelas would watch over her, but there a constant gnawing at her thoughts. What if? What if **he** was in danger? What if **he** needed her protection?

"Abelas," Atisha spoke, slowly lifting the flap and peering in. "I apologize but I wish to speak with you about something."

He released a heavy breath. "Can it wait?"

She cleared her throat, eyes shifting downward. "It... It is a matter that worries me."

Abelas slowly lifted up, letting his eyes rest on Zahirana for a little longer. "I shall not be long, ma sa'lath."

She grinned. "I'm not going anywhere."

They left, the tent's flap closing away the golden sunlight once more. It was too dark, too empty, and she was too alone. Her heart sped, skipping beats, and swooning. She awkwardly sat up, her ribs pierced with pain and her muscles scoured with bruises. But she couldn't stay there, not alone in the darkness with her thoughts.

She needed air. She needed sunlight. She needed the presence of another. It sickened her to think she would be dependent on someone else, that her entire existence would revolve round the presence of other people. But the insatiable dread couldn't be peeled away and it couldn't simply be forgotten.

It was difficulty prying herself up off of the ground. Zahirana stepped outside with jittery steps, each one shakier than the next. Her entire back cringed from the movement, muscles rolling stiffly over bone. From her crown down to the base of her spine, bone throbbed in agony.

"Idiot," hissed Sarlen, hurrying over and wrapping an arm around her waist.

She took down a deep breath, the sweet scent of grass and flowers tickling her senses. The sun was warm, a heated jewel glinting in the sky. She closed her eyes, letting that light beam hard against her lids. She let that heat sweep along her skin and warm her down to her bones.

Sarlen helped her sit down next to Addie who was already drinking down a mug of something awful. He joined her, still protesting, but she wasn't paying attention. Her thoughts were centered on Abelas and Atisha. They were standing away from camp, their conversation obviously about something painful. Abelas was gripped with worry and Atisha was bitter with annoyance.

He averted his gaze from Atisha, catching sight of Zahirana. He walked away from Atisha's rebuttal, his steps quick and fierce. "You should be resting."

"Fresh air and sunshine." She tossed him a haughty raised brow. "Isn't that what you wanted after the cave?"

"Cave?" Addie mouthed to Sarlen and the elf replied with a shrug.

He threw his gaze towards the heavens, trying desperately not to argue. "This is different. Atisha had to carve an arrow out of your back."

Zahirana ran teeth along her bottom lip, remembering that arrow and the poor fool that fired it into her. She remember his face, his eyes lit with horror, as her jaws clamped around him. "Compromise. Put a mat out here and I'll lie down. I just... I need to see the sun. You understand that, don't you?"

Abelas slowly nodded. He went into their tent and pulled the furs and blankets out next to the campfire, a safe distance away. He kneeled down, taking her hand and helping her to curl up beneath the soft furs.

"Ma serannas." She buried her cheek into the musk of fur and the sweet lingering scent of Abelas.

He pressed a kiss into her cheek before slowly returning to Atisha to finish whatever argument they had been having.

"Where are the others?" Zahirana looked over at Addie.

She had been chugging down the last of her drink. "That Lavellan, she has them. Nobles from the city over that way donated tents and knights. They're trying to set the fort back into place until they can find homes for them."

"Abelas' clan will be here tomorrow," added Sarlen. "A crow arrived earlier with the message."

She gave a pleased but sleepy sigh. "That's good news." Her eyes slid closed, finally pleased to have the comfort she sought. Plenty of light. Plenty of trusted people. Safe. Or at least, as safe as she could get.

  
  


**BONUS SCENE:**

"I discovered something," Atisha said in a low voice, "while I was healing her."

Abelas gave a nod of his head. "Yes. I know." They were walking past the tents and stopped on the edge of camp, far enough away that no one could overhear.

"How long have you known?"

"I sensed it while I carried her back here." His eyes lowered to the dirt, unable to lift them to Atisha's face while he asked his next question. "Is... it alright?"

Atisha nodded, taking too long to reply which drew his darted look of concern. "Yes, the energy was thriving there when I checked. Twice. I was worried the recent events might have caused complications. Her use of magic and that battle..." Atisha's brows knitted together, gripped in worry.

He released a heavy breath and pressed his shoulders down. He tried lifting his head higher, tried to make himself stand taller.

"When will you tell her?"

His lips pulled down at their corners. "She has too much to worry about at the moment."

Atisha folded arms tight against her chest. "Abelas."

He threw his gaze towards their tent and when he saw her sitting outside, his stomach twisted sickeningly. He ignored Atisha's continued protest. His thoughts were of Zahirana alone. "You should be resting." He tried not to sound bitter but it was impossible. She was stubborn. He should have known she wouldn't have stayed put.

"Fresh air and sunshine." She was acting cocky, something he normally enjoyed out of her. This time was different. Beneath her confidence was a remnant of fear. "Isn't that what you wanted after the cave?"

Mythal, he thought, throwing his eyes upwards. The sun was a bright reminder. She was right. He had been desperate for sunlight, for any glint of light. "This is different. Atisha had to carve an arrow out of your back." He desperately tried to forget all of the blood and the fingers that dug around in her flesh for the splintered pieces of wood.

He returned his gaze to her and found that she turned to nibbling stressfully on her lips. She did that, he noticed all too well, whenever she was nervous. "Compromise. Put a mat out here and I'll lie down. I just... I need to see the sun, you understand that, don't you?" He heard the sudden anxiety that clung from her tone, her brows bowing beneath her fear.

He nodded, almost mindlessly. He went inside of their tent and started to gather whatever itself he could. But his hands were shaking and his stomach had sunk down, clenching with a sickening sense of anxiety. He dropped his head into his hand, took a moment to steady his breath. He had to stay strong if he was going to help her out of whatever state her mind was stuck in.

He rubbed his hands across his thighs then focused on the task. He grabbed their mat and all of the soft furs they had slept on together for the past few weeks. He put them close enough to the campfire, close enough to the group, but far enough that sparks wouldn't singe her.

He dropped to his knees and guided her slowly to the bed. Her movements were stiff and filled with obvious pain but he bit down on his comments and protests.

She curled beneath the various furs, burying her face and arms into them. "Ma serannas," she whispered sleepily.

He leaned forward, kissing her cheek gently, surreptitiously letting fingers slide across her stomach. He didn't search out the energy. He simply wanted to briefly let fingers linger there. He stood up and returned to Atisha who had grown more furious in his absence.

"She deserves to know," she hissed.

Abelas threw his weight back, shoulders pressed firmly down. His words came out harsher than he intended, "She is already overwhelmed. Perhaps you do not see it."

Atisha shook her head, sweeping her gaze to Zahirana. "She looks fine to me."

"Beneath those smiles and laughs, there is terror. The events that occurred have left her broken. If we tell her, it might completely destroy whatever security she has left." He flicked his gaze away then back to her. "She believes herself to be too weak to take care of herself. With a child..."

The healer pressed her eyes closed and clasped her hands before her. "She will not approve of this."

"I shall bear the brunt of her anger." Abelas began to step away then stopped. "We must keep her out of battle and reduce her use of magic."

"This will be no easy task," she whispered, following him back into camp.

"We have little choice." He stepped forward, steps slow and uncertain. He lied down behind her, taking in her crisp scent and the scattered tresses of dark hair. He couldn't resist pressing his hand against her abdomen, his fear gripping tightly onto him. He could have lost her. He could have lost them both.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long ^-^ Family emergencies have kept me on my toes. The next chapter is one I'm very excited to post (hopefully it is as good as I think it is... o.o; *runs away to revise and edit*)

She awoke to find the camp's fire had gone out some time during the night. She wasn't cold, not with all of the furs blanketed over her and especially not with Abelas who managed to wrap both his arms and legs around her. He shifted his chest against her back, a whispery moan in his sleep brushing across her neck.

She chuckled slightly, placing her hand on top of his that rested like a feather against her stomach. He hadn't moved it since joining her. In fact, he had hardly moved at all.

"Is it morning already," he muttered, half-awake.

"Not quite." Zahirana rubbed her fingers along the smooth skin of his hand and the bones of his knuckles. "I can just barely see the sunlight."

He moved his hand in circles along her stomach, being as gentle as possible. "Sleep, ma sa'lath. You need to recover."

She huffed but behind it was a soft laugh. "I know what you're doing, you know." She tapped her fingers against his hand which made his movements freeze against her.

He took his time replying, "Is that so?"

She shifted onto her back which was difficult in his tight embrace. "No matter how many times you rub them, those bruises aren't going anywhere."

His lips slid freely into a thin smile, one he was trying to suppress. "I can make an attempt, can I not?"

"Attempt all you like." She closed her eyes, a hand lying gently against his face. "They still aren't going anywhere. Atisha will testify for me."

He chuckled, moving his weight across her until he covered her, legs straddled and elbows anchored. "Not if I have any say in the matter."

Zahirana gave a snarky smirk, turning her lips away when he leaned closer. "In that case, you'll have to work for that kiss."

He pressed his mouth against her ear. "I do not require your lips," he retorted, voice deep and gravelly. He planted his mouth against her neck, massaging a laugh out of her, nipping at her skin until she writhed beneath him.

"Abelas," she protested.

He sighed a hot breath against her skin.

Her voice dropped down to a whisper, "We're out in the open. The sun's rising."

He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes. His smile slowly began to fade. He ran his thumb across the swollen skin and the jagged cut that snaked near her brow and down across the bridge of her nose. It stopped, curving against her cheekbone. He moved to the other deep gash, a straight line across her temple.

"I can't even feel them anymore," she lied, hoping it was convincing. She'd never been good at lying, at pretending to be anything other than what she was. It was no wonder her and Sarlen were always getting into trouble.

"I will grab some of Atisha's herbs and tea." He pecked a kiss against her forehead and gracefully lifted up off of the ground.

Zahirana wrapped her fingers tightly around the fur pelt, digging her fingertips into it. She had to hold herself together for his sake. If she showed any small amount of suffering, it would kill him. He already blamed himself.

But it was difficult. A hollowness seemed to cover her, to blanket her entire body. She didn't want to feel it, to acknowledge its existence, but it lingered, these remnants of illness. Bathing in the river helped little. She still felt the blood and grime cling to her skin. She could still taste the sour blood and the crunch of bones beneath her teeth.

Abelas sat down with the herbs and tea. And she quickly rearranged her expression into a smile. He must have not noticed because he helped her sit up before placing the tea into her hands. His words were soft but firm, "We will move camp today. The rest of the clan should arrive soon."

She sipped down the tea, flowery and bitter. She lowered the cup, holding it against her lap. "Where will we head?"

He was quiet for a moment. He gathered the herbal paste against his fingertips, smearing it gently against her wounds, cold gel soothing her face. "Towards... the slaver stronghold. Less than a day's ride from here. We will keep our distance, gather supplies, and say our farewells to the Inquisition."

He was examining her expression and she could feel it. She forced a smile and sipped more of her tea. "It will be good to see the others again."

"If you need more time to rest..." He gripped the small wooden bowl, empty of its contents now. "We can wait for as long as you need."

She shook her head, throwing him a cocky smile. "I'm feeling better every second. I'm ready to leave as soon as they get here."

The rest of the camp stirred with the sunrise. Atisha was the first. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before adding more wood to the small cinders. It took poking and prodding, gentle loving breaths to kindle the blaze back to life. She was calm with placing each piece of wood, kindred not to smother the flame, motherly as always.

Sarlen practically stumbled out of his tent, snarls and grumbles about the sun being too bright and the air being too cold. He dropped down onto the earth near the fire, leaning towards the warmth that Atisha was enticing.

Dorian yawned when he stepped from their tent, fingers brushing his hair back. He smacked his mouth lazily, removing the taste of dry sleep no doubt. "Quite a bit chilly this morning, isn't it?"

"Blight it," whispered Addie who was ruffling out her thick hair. "What's for breakfast?"

Sarlen hissed. He grabbed a pouch and tossed it at her feet.

She raised a brow, throwing Atisha a glare of half-belief. "I guess he bares no love for mornings."

Atisha chuckled lightly before finally settling down, satisfied with her work.

"Dalish!" Addie motioned her over. "Jerky for breakfast?" She shook the bag, taking a spot next to Atisha and grabbing a piece of the dried meat. She turned her attention to the healer, making a snarky comment no doubt that made her chuckle again.

"I am... happy," Zahirana muttered to him. "I have a family that I want to protect."

He lifted his gaze to her, seeing the soft speck of joy that was so blatantly smothered beneath her sorrow and fear. "You have a family that wants to protect you, as well."

The sounds of marching hooves, rhythmic and thunderous, grew louder. They all rose, Zahirana slower than the others even with Abelas' assistance. Over the hills in the distance were harts and upon their backs were the clan, a mix of Elvhen and the few city elves who remained.

Abelas seemed to sigh against her. "They appear unharmed."

"We should pack the camp," Atisha said it mindlessly, almost as if it were on her checklist of responsibilities. "I'll gather our supplies and ready the mounts."

"I can break down our tent," added Zahirana but Abelas' grip was firm.

He held her tight against him, determined not to let go of her. "You are wounded. You will allow the rest of us to pack."

"I can handle it," she laughed but her laugh was slightly hollow. She knew well that her wounds were too extensive. She could barely feel the muscles in her back, numbed by the herbs and magic. Her arms were flimsy and her fingers felt cracked and broken. Her entire body was an enormous bruise, gelatin wrapped sloppily around her bony frame.

Abelas stood before her, towering over her, but he lowered his head, turning until his mouth pressed firm against hers. His hands rested soft against her cheek and jaw. "I beg you, ma sa'lath. Drink your tea and rest. Our ride to the fort will be painful."

She sighed, giving in to his pleas and giving in to reality. "I love bitter tea early in the morning..."

It provoked a small smile, a smirk no one else would have noticed. "Hopefully, you enjoy it in the evening as well. It was all we had left."

Zahirana rubbed fingers against her forehead. "There's got to be a better herb out there. We're surrounded by them." She gathered herself and her tea at the campfire. She watched as Abelas slowly walked away from her, a glance over his shoulder at her. He sauntered off to greet the rest of the clan, his people, his charges.

Enasalin and Suledin were the first to arrive, their mounts lagging behind them. Abelas strolled casually at their side. They greeted Atisha like a long absent sister before turning their wide smiles to Zahirana.

She smiled, beaming at them, pleased to see each of them unscathed. They looked exhausted from the ride but there were no wounds or scrapes to be seen. Their attire was still well kept and their weapons shimmering.

Suledin hurried forward, his grin wiped clean, words furious, "What happened to you?" He kneeled down in front of her, his hands hovering uncertainly over her face. He turned his stern fury to Atisha and Abelas. "What in Mythal's name happened to her?"

Enasalin was better at hiding his concerns. His steps were slower, calmer, and he examined her with an expression of mild interest. He was like a student examining the ancient bindings of a book. "These wounds are fresh..."

"She was taken by slavers," chirped Atisha, weaving her way between the concerned men. "They are superficial wounds. My herbal remedy will heal them just fine."

Zahirana smiled, hoping it reached her eyes. She hoped more that it was believable and that her words sounded truer than they did before, "I can barely feel them now."

"She will rest while the remainder of us uproot camp." Abelas, words bitter and features guarded, walked away and motioned his advisors to follow. They did so, all three of them, leaving Zahirana to the quiet crackles of the campfire and the breaking down of their tents.

She relished in the absence of the pitiful glances. They did not mean to harm her with their stares or their words. She didn't want to be pitied or to be coddled. She wanted the whole event erased, wiped clean, and forgotten. She wanted to be stronger than a poor elf who got taken by slavers.

She let her eyes turn on the blaze, it's movements a hypnotic dance of reds and golds. Her mind wandered back to the fort, to the heat of the fire that assaulted its walls and scaffolding. The shouts of anger and the cries of agony were a cacophony of sounds that littered her ears. She could still taste the blood on her tongue and throat. The smell of it had never left her, staining her senses permanently. She wanted another bath, a long and deep bath in the river until her skin was scrubbed clean.

"Dalish." Addie had kneeled down beside her, likely some time ago. She gripped the elf's shoulder, her eyes wider than they should have been. "You alright, sweetheart?"

She slammed her eyes shut, shutting away the burn and the tears. "I feel exhausted for some reason, that's all."

Addie slowly nodded her head, disbelieving her lie. "Camp's almost up."

"So it is..." Zahirana bobbed her vision over the empty field, shifting her weight in hopes to make it off the ground and onto her feet.

Addie helped her, heaving an arm around her neck and supporting most of her weight. "That Abelas of yours is still talking with them others." Addie's voice was a low whisper, as if they were still chained and under the scrutiny of the guards.

She sighed, nodding her head. "They are his advisors." She couldn't force another smile or even add an extra ounce of excitement in her tone. She was certain Addie would have seen through it anyway. "They probably want to continue westward."

Addie made a hum, a sound of deep thought. "What's west but deserts?"

"I'm still not sure." They hobbled around the disorganized camp, growing closer to the mounts and to Abelas' makeshift meeting. They were finishing up, whatever conversation they were having.

Sarlen and Dorian were also making their way over, shirtless and sweat lacing their skin from the sun's heat. A few of the clan had been helping them break down the tents and packing the supplies onto the harts.

"We're nearly ready," informed Sarlen, wiping the back of his hand against his face. He eyed Zahirana and the shakiness in her stance. "I'll go and grab your hart."

Abelas stepped over, pulling himself away from the hushed meeting, ignoring whatever words they were throwing at him. "She will ride with me. Addie will take her hart for now."

Suledin and Enasalin averted their eyes, turning their attention to Atisha who was also keeping herself busy. She grasp her hands in front of her and focused on fumbling with her nails. They seemed incredibly interesting today. Or they needed a good cleaning.

"That smelly beast?" Addie nudged her head towards the large antlered creature, it's grunts and grumbles could be heard clearly.

Abelas took hold of Zahirana, giving Addie a nod of his head, a wordless order.

She took the chance to make her way over to the herd, curses mumbled under her breath the closer she got to them. Atisha was quick to follow Addie, the comforting mother needing to fill her role.

He helped Zahirana, each of his steps slow and patient. He guided her across the grass and kept a distance between them and everyone else. "The others would like it if we remained with the Inquisition for a few more days. We are in need of supplies."

Zahirana peered at him, his face hidden well behind a complacent mask. He was guarding his expressions again, his words and his movements. "What would you prefer?"

He briefly glanced at her and stopped before his hart. "A safe haven."

He helped ease her up onto the large body of the elk, the saddle firm and hard against her bruises and bones. He joined her easily onto the saddle, his heat hard pressed into her back. He took hold of the reins and waited for the rest of the clan to join them.

The remainder of their supplies were stuffed away and the small gathering mounted for the long ride. Their mounts stampeded across the hills, a mixture of harts and horses, working their way along the edges of the woodline.

She sighed against him, every muscle melting away her tensions and letting go of what fears she had clung to. Abelas smelled of the sweat and dirt from their travels and beneath it all was the sweet scents of the forests: pine, cedar, and cyprus oils. The same oils used in polishing their gear.

The fort was viewable in the distance, a dark speck against the pale earth.

Abelas slowed his hart, letting much of the clan pass them. "You are certain of this? Our camp will be near that fort." He let an arm wrap around her waist, a gentle reminder that he was still present.

She hadn't realized how tense she had become, her muscles taut as a bowstring and her breath caught in her lungs. She breathed out slowly, the air brushing across her lips. "I'm a little sore from all of the riding," she poorly joked and he had sensed as much. "And hungry."

He leaned his head down, pressed it soft against hers. "There is a matter I wish I discuss with you."

"That sounds ominous," she snarked, throwing him a grin over her shoulder.

"I have chosen to relinquish my leadership over our... clan."

Zahirana twisted in her seat, trying to read whatever emotion he might let slip.

He spoke calmly, staring on ahead towards the horizon. "Enasalin is older and more experience than me. He will make a fine leader."

She shook her head, a breathy laugh huffed free. "I don't think I understand."

Abelas cocked his head, rolling his vision away. "I am no longer fit to lead them. My emotions have compromised my judgement. Given the choice between the clan and you..." He finally dared to look at her. "I am afraid that I have chosen you."

Zahirana pressed her back into his chest, swallowing hard. "What do you plan to do?"

"Enasalin and I have discussed trading places. He will lead and I will advise as commander of our forces." He spoke so formally, as if it were a simple matter. "I have a favor to ask of you."

She gripped her hands together, peered down at them before softly replying, "Anything." After all, she was the reason he was leaving his post. Hadn't his people been his sole purpose?

"Tomorrow this matter will be discussed with the clan. I wish for you to speak in favor of this decision."

"Me?" Her brows jolted, drawing her attention to him. "Why?"

"The clan respects you. They value your opinion."

She chuckled. "What gave you that idea?"

Abelas tilted his head, leaning forward to plant a kiss against her temple. "You rescued me single-handedly from a cave full of darkspawn. You liberated City Elves from their human oppressors. You took down an entire fort of slavers with little to no help."

Zahirana wanted to speak, to protest that she hadn't really done anything all that spectacular, but her words were caught in the tightened dryness of her throat. They had stumbled miraculously out of the cave and she just barely survived the onslaught of the slavers. The City Elves had simply been there along the way. She hadn’t freed them. The clan did.

Abelas laughed softly, a brief sound, "Some have begun to call you Revaslin."

The Blood of Freedom.

She pressed her fingers against her forehead, trying to hold back her tears.

"They will listen to what you have to say."

She nodded her head, rolling the corner of her lip between her teeth. "Alright. I will speak for you tomorrow."

He pressed his smile against her cheek. "Ma serannas, ma sa'lath."

They remained quiet, basking in each other’s presence, even when the clan stopped and began to set up camp. She had forgotten how efficient they were, how militaristic they moved about the land. They put up their tents with efficiency, each member having a specific job and setting to it. Even the city elves had molded into their niche and had become harmonious with the others.

Abelas helped her back onto the ground. Her legs shook beneath her but she forced herself to stand on her own. He was just as stubborn as her, sliding an arm around her waist and guiding her through the bustling of camp.

"I'm alright," she insisted, ignoring her own suffering.

"Allow me this." Abelas peered down at her, eyes mirroring brilliantly the golden orange hues of the sun setting next to them. "Ensuring your happiness allows me to take comfort in knowing you are safe."

She reluctantly nodded, stifling back her laugh. "Fine. You win."

He leaned his lips against her ear, humor rich in his words. "You can bicker at the others all you desire."

Zahirana laughed, her ribs sharp with pain but she couldn't help herself. Atisha was already gathering furs together, creating a soft spot for her patient. Addie was working on the fire pit, gathering sticks and dried grasses together. Even Suledin and Enasalin were working away to set up a tent for her.

She barked half-heartedly, "Don't you people have better things to do?"

Atisha chuckled, a lighthearted smile flittering across her honeyed skin. "My sole job is keeping you healthy." She sashayed the small space to Zahirana, taking her hands and easing her over to the furs. "A few more healings and it'll be as if it never happened."

Zahirana almost bitterly retorted a reply but she bit the harsh words. Wanting the events to be nonexistent wouldn't change things. She smiled instead, settling down onto the furs as the healer began to weave her spell.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains sexual content :3 So, either you're happy about that or upset (because I sort of laced it into events which means I can't really make it separate like I did before in chapter 13) Also, bonus scene at the end!

She had stared into its black charred walls until she had each crack and curve of stone memorized. It had been a shadowed speck earlier, distant and foreboding, standing tall against the earth. Now it was night, the moon softening some of the darkness, her elven eyes adjusting easily to see the fort's jagged outline.

She had seen the movement of soldiers inside, the flag of the Inquisition whipping in a high tower, the pitched tents gathered at the fortress' feet. Camp was an hour's walk away and a few of the clan had ventured off to talk amongst the Inquisition's forces, to peek a look at the freed slaves, and to perhaps even examine the fortress's ruined state.

She had caused that ruin, that chaos, delighting somewhat in the death of the slavers. She didn't regret their death. She regretted having been put in that situation. Abelas was no doubt helping her sleep peacefully with some spell. But she didn't have to be asleep to be haunted by nightmares.

Sarlen kneeled down in front of her, pulling her distant thoughts back into their sheath. "A few of us are going hunting in the morning." He lifted her stringless bow into view, the same one she had lost to the slavers. Obviously, he had hoped for a positive reaction to seeing it again. Sarlen was filled with excitement, with so much energy, "Come hunting with me."

But she couldn't smile. It was a hideous reminder. Disgust coated her words, her nose crinkling and her brows diving down together, "Where did you find that?"

His smile almost faltered, but he tried to hold it firm. "It was on the ground. We found it while we were tracking you down." He lifted it towards her again, hoping she would take it.

Zahirana got to her feet, crossed her arms tight against her chest, dug her fingers into the flesh of her arm. She had to repress the urge to grab it and throw it as far as her arms would allow. "I don't want it."

He let out a breathy sigh of shock, eyes dropping to the intricate carvings. "Then I'll get you a new one." He jumped to his feet and followed at her heels, quickening his steps until he was at her side.

She forced herself to speak softer, to be gentler with him. "No. I... don't want to go hunting." She walked past Abelas, her gaze flicking to him, unintentionally pleading with him.

Abelas stepped in front of Sarlen, pulling him aside as Zahirana hurried onwards. She could hear them arguing but she didn't let herself focus on the conversation. She needed to be alone with her thoughts and far away from the bustles of the camp. She needed to forget about the foreboding fort at her back, the tainted memories that relentlessly hounded her.

She found a quiet spot away from camp but still near the glow of the bonfires. The stars were before her, flickers of soft white light, distant and scattered specks dusted across the darkened blue. She pressed her knees to her chest and hugged them there, her eyes resting on the ethereal gleam of the moon.

"Almost a full moon," stated Abelas, words soft and soothing.

She slipped her eyes closed. "If you're here to convince me--"

"I am not." He stepped forward, dropping onto his knees behind her, pressing his chest against her back, mouth hot on her ear. "I am here to convince you to stay."

A chuckle stuttered free. She sighed, turning to finally face him, rising up onto her knees and letting her hands slide up along his chest to wrap around his neck. Her words were strangled against her slight fear, "Vhenan'ara."

His breathing increased, lips parting in anticipation. "Ar lath ma," he pleaded, prayed the words in desperation. His hands grabbed either side of her face and pulled her into a kiss, lips molding hard against hers. He needed her, more than he had ever needed anything, and the idea of losing her made him desperate. His lips pulled harder against hers, tongue exploring wildly.

She pulled from the kiss, forehead against his shoulder, catching her breath. "You don't need to convince me. I don't ever want to leave."

He playfully chided, "You have no plans to run off again?"

She couldn't stop herself from laughing with him. "Being a wolf just doesn't appeal to me anymore."

Abelas nearly sighed, his words filled with relief, "I am pleased to hear this."

She threw him a brave smirk, "Instead, I think I might just fly away. Eagles seem rather noble."

He hooked a finger beneath her chin, lifting it until her eyes caught sight of his. "Perhaps then I truly do need to convince you to stay." He allowed himself to smile, to let a piece of his mask fall away. "Come with me." He took her hands in his, lifting up onto his feet and helping her do the same. He laced his fingers with hers, taking pleasure in the small gesture, as he led her away from camp and towards the cluster of trees.

She followed him, eager to forget about the distant fort and the memories that plagued her. For now, all that matter was Abelas. His quiet, agile steps past the waists of trees and the hushed whispers of the leaves gripped by the wind. There was the crisp smell of the grass, citrus and sweet, and the gentle kisses from mist-speckled plants brushing across her ankles and thighs. She felt the comfort of the woodlands, a forgotten friend who had been absent for far too long.

Abelas slowed in his steps, turning to her and pulling her straight against his chest. His hands moved along her curves, having memorized each bend of bone and band of muscle. He dipped his head down to kiss her, a softer kiss than his earlier one.

She chuckled into his mouth, pulling away to gaze at his expression. "Here? Outside in the open?" Her heart nearly skittered in its next beat, the idea of being caught naked together.

He glanced away to the mossy ground, a little sheepish and a little mischievous, slipping off his gauntlets and tossing them carelessly down. "It is as good a place as any, is it not?"

She made efforts to walk further into the small clearing but he grabbed her by the hip and pulled her back against him and the hard metal of his armor. She leaned towards his slender form, the curve of her spine arching as his hands ghosted down her stomach and slipping beneath the flap of her leathers. His fingertips skimmed over the curve of her thigh, startling a moan from her as he just barely brushed over the blood-rushing desire beneath her chainmail.

He pressed his mouth against her ear, nipping her earlobe before muttering, "I want you. I want nothing but you."

She breathed deep, sighing heavily as his warm fingers slid beneath the hem of her chainmail, beneath the doublet, until finally he found the smoothness of skin. "Abelas," she moaned it, his fingers fervently moving downwards towards the heat he so eagerly sought after. Her hips rolled towards his hand but she forced them back, finding the hard metal of armor against the base of her spine.

His coarse, battle-worn fingers teasingly brushed over her entrance, folds and hills of soft flesh. She drew in her bottom lip, reaching behind her to hold onto Abelas for support, to hold onto anything with anticipation. Her hands gripped onto the firm muscles of his neck, a hand snaking upwards through the thick strands of his hair. His lips massaged the bend of her neck, letting his fingers part her opening, exploring slowly and patiently.

"Vhenan'ara," she muttered it, her hand falling onto his arm, hips bucking forward with need.

He sighed a laugh, breathy at first then abruptly quiet. He pressed a hard frown into her cheek, left it there for a quiet, frozen moment. He pulled his hand free from her heated skin to rest heavy on the tight muscles of her abdomen. An unfamiliar sound stuttered from his throat, his eyes dropping down onto her shoulder.

"Abelas?" She turned around just as he stepped back. He dropped to his knees, fists clenched on top of his thighs. "Vhenan'ara?" Zahirana quickly kneeled before him, bending down to peer at his bowed head. "What is it?" She pressed her hands onto either side of his face, feeling the warm sleekness of tears. "Talk to me."

He shook his head ever so slightly, averting his gaze as best he could. "Forgive me." His voice cracked. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, kissing the rough skin of her palm.

She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. "Tell me." He had never cried in front of her before, he had never allowed himself to show this much emotion, and it frightened her. The thought that something so terrible could leave him so vulnerable.

He opened his mouth, rolling the words silently on his tongue before clearing his throat. "I have kept a secret from you. It was one that..." He finally dared to look at her, to hold his gaze firmly with hers, to smooth his brows. "I wanted to wait to tell you... At least until I thought you were ready."

She tried to harden her expression, to smooth out her brows and to soften her lips, but it was impossible. She feared the worst. She feared that something was going to happen and it would destroy her. "Whatever it is, I can handle it." She couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle anymore terrible news.

He clenched his jaw, torn before emotions that she could hardly discern, emotions he wasn't letting her see. He was a professional at hiding his thoughts and feelings. Creators damn him for being so cryptic.

She barked it, commanded him, "Abelas!" She pressed her forehead against his and made sure her gaze burned with determination. "Don't. Don't you dare push me away like this."

He slammed his eyes shut, shifting his knees until he was closer, pressed his body against her and buried his head into the curve of her neck. He rested there, arms braced around her, fingers pressed between her rib bones. "I thought I lost you."

She laughed with relief, rolling her eyes upwards towards the glinting moon that peeked through the thick branches above. "But you didn't. I'm right here."

"I could have lost you. I could have lost..." His voice cracked again and she felt him breathe deep, savoring the breath for a moment. A few silent heartbeats later he lifted his head, cupped a hand against her cheek before softly whispering, "Ma sa'lath, you are with child."

She wasn't quite sure she heard it, his voice had been so soft and the words so strange to her ears. She leaned closer, eyes darting across his features. "I'm what?"

He allowed her a small amount of space, straightening his spine. "Atisha... assured me that you and the child are... healthy."

Zahirana pressed fingertips against her mouth, swallowing down the dryness in her throat. She dropped her hand away, pressing it flat against her lap, the trembles of anxiety shuddering through her. A child. She had never considered it, never thought herself capable or worthy of being a mother.

Abelas placed a hand on her neck, the other against the side of her face. "I shall protect you. I shall protect you both."

She let herself smile, felt it overwhelm her expression, felt it racing through her heart. "I know you will."

He let out a heavy sigh, dropping his head into his hand. "I worried that if I told you..."

She shoved his shoulder, drawing his widened eyes. She smirked, haughty and cocky, feeling her old self spark a little. "You don't get to keep secrets from me anymore."

He narrowed his eyes, let them smolder up at her as he cocked his head. "Is that so?" He was agile, pushing himself on top of her and pulling her knees around him. She laughed and squirmed but she made no true efforts to escape his grasp. He nuzzled his head beneath her chin, kissed against her racing pulse.

She took down a deep breath of air, taking in the earthy scents that laced his hair. "What do we do now?"

He shifted his weight against her, mounting his elbows on either side of her head, pressed a kiss down onto her lips briefly. "We will find a sanctuary. There will be one in the west."

"You're certain?"

He took a moment to reply, gathering his thoughts. "I am." His mouth slipped over hers and his lips kneaded hard in desperation, in a reckless desire that could not be put into words. He pulled from the kiss, briefly tugging her lips along with his. He took down a breath to steady himself before softly whispering, "Will you speak to me now? About your suffering?"

She let a soft breath sigh passed her lip, tickling the rawness left behind from his molding mouth. "I'm not suffering."

"You are strong, I am aware of this. You are a wolf... but even wolves must howl at the moon." He pressed his forehead against hers, a fingertip tracing the outline of her jaw and the over the bend and curve of her mouth. "Let me be your moon, ma sa'lath."

Zahirana closed her eyes, taking another breath before replying. "I'm not strong, Abelas. Not enough to defend myself. If you had been in the woods with the slavers, they would have never caught you. You wouldn't have been so weak or so pathetic. I almost--" Her throat dried, voice cracking at the words she spoke, "I almost got our child killed."

"You are learning to be stronger." He gave a firm nod of his head, locking his eyes with hers. "Have I not been teaching you? The clan could help in adding their knowledge. It will take time, ma sa'lath."

She smiled, almost giggled.

He turned his head away, a quivering smile on his lips. "You are laughing?"

She lifted her arms, draped them around his neck loosely. "It's strange hearing you say 'clan' in that way. You said it almost like..." She shook her head, trying to suppress her smile.

"They are our family. You are my family."

She softened her gaze, taking in the gentleness of the moss beneath them, the coldness of the droplets left behind by the midnight fog. She closed her eyes, allowed herself to soak in the calmness of the moment, to enjoy the stillness around them. She leaned forward and kissed his lips, tasting the mild bitterness of herbal tea mingled with spices from the dried meats.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, deepening the kiss, a moan grumbling through his throat. She shuddered beneath his drifting touch, his hands gliding down across the curve of her back and the bone of her hip. The heat of his palm stopped at her thighs as they moved on either side of his waist, her calves pressed against his back, pulling him towards her center.

She tangled fingers into the silver of his hair, pulling it free from its corded bindings, letting it shower across his shoulders and drape down about them. He pulled back from the kiss, lips thinned by a wide smile. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, lower against the hard bone of her chin, the soft cartilage of her throat. She arched her neck into his teasing, her skull digging into the mossy pillow.

His hands worked between them, snapping free buckles and leather belts, tossing aside their weapons. His hands never left her for long, his lips never ceasing to suck and nibble every inch of exposed skin. Zahirana chuckled, pressed her hands into his bare chest and pushed him away.

His gaze swept across her as she rose up onto her knees, her bare body glistening. Her fingers raked back the dark strands of her hair, heaving forward her breasts until the moonlight beaming through the trees captured them. His eyes on her gave her confidence, gave her enough courage to kneel tall before him unabashed.

"Ma sa'lath," he whispered it, declared it like a soft prayer. He rushed out of the last of his clothes, his trembling hands urgently tossing the articles aside. She surveyed the roll and tightening of his muscles, the curving fine lines of his vallaslin, the way his olive skin darkened in the shadows of the trees. She nipped her bottom lip at the sight of his straining erection, the thought that she alone made him feel this way.

He reached out to take her hand but she only smirked in return, tilting her head and resting her eyes onto his. She moved forward boldly, fingers brushing down his neck and along his broad, stiff shoulders. She moved forward between his legs, turned her naked body until she was pressed against his chest, the curve of her backside fitting firm against him.

Abelas dropped his lips onto the bend of her neck, suckling against the tender skin, his hands drifting around her ribs and down her taut stomach. He let his fingers teasingly sweep across the heat that bundled around her opening, her thighs widening with eager delight. She writhed within his solid embrace, arching her back and rubbing the curve of her rear against his already straining erection, pleading with him.

He grunted, unintentionally bucking his own hips into her soft flesh, knowing all too well that his body wanted her. Abelas lifted up, towering on his knees, brought her with him until he could slip his taut thighs onto either side of her, aligning their feverish bodies. He wanted her pleasure to last, to remind her physically that he loved her, to take his delicious time exploring every inch of her.

She pulled her long tresses to one side, exposing plainly her neck to his nipping teeth, nibbling his way along the muscled bands and hard collarbone. He wrapped his fiery mouth over her shoulder, his tongue sweeping across skin to take in the salt of her sweat, moaning in the delightful taste.

She rolled her head back, every muscle clenched tight with a deep craving. She sighed a breath of mist as his coarse fingers scraped firm against her engorged clit, each circle and sweeping motion rattling her frame, her body moving into each stroke. He flicked them into the moist heat, fingertips barely flittering around her opening, delving deeper and pressing his hard palm across her sensitive bud. She forced her hips back, bending them until his inflamed cock curved its tip towards her folds.

She needed him soon. She had needed him the moment he took her hand and led her into the shadows of the woods. She had missed his touch, loving and gentle, the careful way he worked around her body. Zahirana reached a hand back, scraped her fingernails across his scalp and through the silk of his hair. Her other hand glazed down his arm until she could lace her fingers with his moistened ones, felt them hesitate inside of her.

He knew her intent, read her body openly and withdrew his embrace around her pulsing slit. His free and moved between their skin, fingertips traced the bone of her spine, pushed against her lower back until her moistened folds tickled acrossed his fleshy tip. She leaned forward, his body flushed against hers, his chest moulded into her back. Her palms pressed flat into the damp earth, his hands massaging up her arms and down her sides. His lips nuzzled the skin between her shoulders blades, tongue flicking across hard bone, his hands caressing up her thighs to grip the curve of her hipbones.

Zahirana shuddered beneath him, his body a heated sun around her, contrasting against the coolness of night. She thrusted her hips back, a gasp stifling free as his hardened erection rammed through her sleek walls. His body moved across her, a rhythmic rocking and swaying, of gasps and sighs, a slap of flesh and bones. Her fingers clawed into the earth, a cry breaking from her throat, her hips thrusting back to meet his fervent pace. His hips jolted, a surge of adrenaline and lust quickening his cadence.

Her arms weakened beneath her the sharper his thrusts became, sweat clinging between their frictioned skin. His deep groan was caught his throat, breathing all but gone as he desperately tried to send her to the height of climax. Her body quivered as the searing heat of orgasm rolled down to her curled toes, her arms quivering until her forehead nearly touched the ground.

He dropped his head, rivulets of his cold sweat trickling across the nape of her neck. His body jerked mindlessly as his cum flooded her walls, breaths staggering out of his lungs. He planted a hand into the dirt and wrapped an arm across her chest, holding her firmly in place when her body weakened lifelessly from the exhausting bliss.

He eased her onto the ground beneath him, sinking into the lush moss, making a fine resting spot for the night. Abelas peppered kisses across her neck and onto her shoulder, covering her small frame with every inch of his exposed flesh. His ribcage ached with each heaved breath, letting the hot sighs sweep along her back. He rested his eyes against her damp skin, laced with salty sweat and fresh dew.

He took down an unsteady breath of air, muttering softly, "Ma emma lath."

Her chest heaved beneath him, a weak breathy giggle, she whispered her reply, "Ma emma vhenan'ara."

She nestled her cheek against the plush moss, smelling of musty rain-drenched earth, lingering with the citrus scent of Abelas above her. She took one of his hands into hers, slipped her fingers between his, and allowed him to kiss her fingertips. He sighed against her, his warmth radiating over her every inch, their legs tangled and their arms curled at their sides.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BONUS SCENE:
> 
> "She needs to go hunting," Sarlen hissed, shoving the bow into the Elvhen's chest. "She needs to do this."
> 
> Abelas took the bow and tossed it aside as if it were a simple stick, his eyes rolling up to the young elf. "She does not need to go hunting. She needs you to give her space. She needs to recuperate."
> 
> He chuckled, breathy and desperate, his words growing with hatred, "You don't get it. We're losing her. She did this once before. Did she tell you that? The time she ran away from the clan? Did she tell you?"
> 
> Abelas folded his arms across his chest, back stiff and shoulders rolling with irritation. "I am aware of this story. She returned, did she not?" He shifted his head, cocking it with mild interest.
> 
> "Return..." He huffed, shifting his weight and turning away from him, his feet tempted to pace. "We had to track her down. The clan searched for her..." Sarlen finally faced the stern Elvhen, his eyes searching his expression. "We spent an entire month searching for her. The Emerald Graves. The Exalted Plains. The Arbor Wilds."
> 
> His gaze fell away before turning to find Zahirana. She had said a week.
> 
> Sarlen gripped the bridge of his nose, batting his eyelashes. "Dread Wolf be damned, Abelas, I..." He threw his hand down at his side. "If we lose her..."
> 
> He retorted firmly, "I will not allow that."
> 
> If Sarlen was right, then he would do what he could to keep her. She didn't have a reason to run away, or so those were her words before the events. Abelas wasn't so certain those words still held truth to them. She didn't seem distant. She only appeared to be mulling over the horrors that transpired.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter, I sort of got swept up by Abelas' backstory which I will also post. Here's a link: [Sorrow's Path](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3878404)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At lath ma: I love you  
> Ma sa'lath: My one love  
> Ma sal'shiral: My soul  
> Ma vhenan: My heart  
> Revanelan: She fights for freedom

Dew droplets glistened across their skin, each one a cool, crystal gem. Zahirana felt, for the first time since the slavers' attack, that she was washed clean of all the blood that had stained her skin and coated her mouth. Perhaps it was the fresh water or perhaps it was the tender caresses Abelas petted into her hair and down along her back, his fingers gently massaging away all of her stress.

He lay on his side, tucked against her, fingertips dancing delightfully across her body. He leaned down and pecked a soft kiss on her shoulder blade, whispering, "Ma sa'lath," and then one on her shoulder, muttering, "Ma sal'shiral."

She moaned her laugh, still wrapped comfortably in a haze, "Ma vhenan." She stretched her entire body, feeling the rigid aches and pains but taking somewhat delight in them. He had caused them last night, his desire insatiable. "Is it morning?"

He pressed his mouth against her ear, hot breath tickling a laugh out of her. "We can pretend otherwise. Surely, no one will notice us gone."

Zahirana giggled, shooing him away from her ear, his mouth sending shivers down to her toes. "You have a clan meeting to get to. Remember?" She shifted beside him, moving until she could roll onto her back.

He let his eyes wander across her hills and valleys before resting them on the taut muscles of her stomach. "We have a clan meeting."

The corner of her lip curled at the admiration she saw in him. It was hard to imagine that this Abelas, the man who had insulted her at their first meeting, could have ever gazed upon her with any amount of love. She chuckled again, letting it shake her entire form. "I miss the days when you called me shemlen."

He rolled his eyes closed, bashfully bowing his head. "I was... unfair to you, then."

She lifted up onto her elbows, crooking her neck until her lips could capture his. She tugged at his mouth with her own, parting his lips, his tongue exploring masterfully. She moaned when the weight of his body crawled on top of her, his heat radiating against the early morning chill. "Abelas," she teased between kisses, "Clan meeting."

He groaned, dropping his forehead against her collarbone. "Ar lath ma."

A breath of air passed her pulsing lips, her fingers brushing through his disheveled hair, his scent lingering on her skin. "Ar lath ma, vhenan'ara."

Abelas nuzzled his cheek against her before slowly getting to his knees. He looked about the small clearing. He grabbed their scattered gear, handing off each item and adorning his own. He silently walked with her back towards camp, their fingers laced together, taking in the warmth of each other's hands. His eyes always turned to find hers, their gazes catching each other every now and then, drawing small chuckles from each other.

"Unbelievable!" Atisha stomped forward, eyes lit with a rare fury. "You took her into the woods! All night! What if you were attacked! What if she died?"

Abelas pressed a kiss into Zahirana's cheek backing away, "I shall go and find Enasalin."

"Oh, good. Leave me with Atisha's fury..." She smirked, rolling her eyes to the temperamental healer. "Good morning, Atisha."

Atisha sighed, slowly sinking back into her calmer state, the sweet and gentle mother. "Come along. Your last healing." She linked her arms with Zahirana, strolling through camp towards the medical tent. "I should hope Abelas didn't keep you up all night."

You turned your head away, a heated blush and a wickedly guilty grin. "No, not all night."

She giggled, shoving her shoulder into her. "You two certainly had camp worried." Atisha let go of her arm and motioned her to take a seat on the floor.

Zahirana crossed her legs, grinning devilishly when Atisha took the spot across from her. "Speaking of worried, you could have mentioned a few things."

"Mentioned?" Her brow jolted as she lifted her hands, weaving a cool spell through the air, letting it slide across skin, muscle, and bone. "Mentioned, what?"

"Abelas told me... about the pregnancy."

Atisha gasped, forgetting all about her spell. "He told you?"

Zahirana shoved her shoulder playfully. "How long did you know?"

The healer began to work her spell again, a wide smile splayed across her face. "A while. It was a task best left for Abelas. He was concerned it might stress you." Her hands dropped down to Zahirana's stomach, gently going over the space. "Four weeks old, at least."

"You're certain?" Four weeks, Zahirana considered, thinking back to that night in Skyhold, their first night together. Her own hands found comfort in pressing down onto her stomach.

"I'm certain. I've delivered many children in my lifetime." Her voice was soft, memories no doubt flooding her senses, a modest boast on her tongue, "I was, after all, the best healer in the temple."

She laughed, surprised at hearing Atisha make such a bold statement. "Did you ever have children of your own?"

Atisha lowered her gaze, turned it towards the camp. "I was only ever interested in women. And I was never eager enough for a child to sleep with a man." She lifted her hands and placed them on either side of Zahirana's face. "Each member of my clan, they are my children."

She felt Atisha's warmth, her gentle love. "Thank you, Atisha."

The healer turned her attention away, sweet smile never wavering. "Some tea, then. Before we have this awful meeting." She stood up and gathered her herbs and flowers.

"Atisha." Zahirana's voice was small, contemplating whether or not she wanted to ask her next question. The answer might kill her, might pain her somehow. "Did Abelas... Did he ever have any children?"

Atisha worked on preparing the tea, working to rekindle the campfire just outside. She finally returned to the tent, sitting down on the space before Zahirana, her eyes sadder than before. "Abelas had no children. He... dallied with quite a few people. He was young, a fierce warrior rising through the ranks and that had caught many eyes. He never took any of them serious until..." Atisha glanced at Zahirana's expression, read every one of her features. "Perhaps, this story isn't..."

"No, please." She swallowed her pulse, tried to smooth out her brows and soften her eyes. "I want to know."

"Abelas is going to kill me..."

"Atisha," she pleaded once more.

She gave a nod of her head, resigning to tell the story. "His name was Ilelan. At first, he started out as a simple lover. He was a two-handed warrior, harsh and brutish, the most renown fighter. Rose in the ranks just as quickly as Abelas. And Abelas took a liking to him, fell in love with him. They were together for a year..."

"What happened?"

"The rebellion happened." She closed her eyes, locking away the tears that began to threaten. "In a matter of hours Mythal had been murdered, the temple was attacked. Ilelan left to defend the frontlines. Abelas let him go. Both of them took their duty as sentinel more seriously. I don't think Abelas expected him to die... I think Abelas considered themselves somewhat invincible."

"He died?"

She opened her eyes, fluttering them somewhat. "They were slaughtered. Enasalin ordered the temple doors closed. The Well was locked away securely. And Abelas... He grew bitter and angry, viciously guarded his feelings from all of us. There were days that I thought..." She sighed turning her attention to the campfire, shaking off the darkness that clung to her, but her voice still carried the chill, "I think our tea is ready."

Zahirana watched her make the tea, watched as she quietly poured them both a cup, and bring it into the tent with her. She took the tea, sipped a little of it, tasting the strong flavor of flowers mixed with the lingering touch of spices.

"He is better now," Atisha finally said, a little chipper than before. "You have brought out that goodness in him again."

Zahirana let herself smile, let herself enjoy the warmth that the tea offered as it seeped into her belly. It was comforting that moment of silence between her and Atisha, the both of them enjoying each other's presence.

He gave a rather heavy sigh. "Meeting," reminded Abelas as he stepped passed the embers of the campfire. "They are waiting for us."

Zahirana set down her tea. She took in Abelas, the way he walked and the way his features softly showed his emotions. He was different, much different than those earlier days when she had first met him.

Atisha chuckled, playing her innocent card, "We must have gotten carried away."

Abelas reached down and helped Zahirana onto her feet. "Shall we?"

Atisha followed gracefully beside her, words a gentle chime, "Abelas, you are certain of this action?"

"I am." His words were final, no room for argument, no sense of hesitation.

They neared the large gathering, some of them sitting while others took to standing. Atisha walked ahead, passing many of the clan, her smile wide and contagious, drawing smiles from those around her. She walked before the gathering, centering herself in front of everyone, unabashed in front of everyone's eyes.

Zahirana walked with Abelas to stand with Enasalin and Suledin, the two of them off to the side behind Atisha. They greeted with silent nods and smiles, which steadied Zahirana's nerves. Her clan had meetings similar to this, but her clan seemed so much smaller than this one. This was a gathering of Elvhen, ancient and old, mixed with the young City Elves. And as she looked over the crowd, she even saw some of the humans who had been slaves with her, including Addie who took her place next to Sarlen and Dorian.

"I would first like to thank everyone for coming," Atisha beamed, pulling the smiles of the people before her. "We have come together at the request of our leader, Abelas, our Head Sentinel. He has come to the decision of relinquishing his title and position to Enasalin."

Some in the crowd began to whisper quietly, others louder with their confusion.

Atisha lifted her hands, smile unfaltering, eyes still a gentle caress. "Calm, brothers and sisters. Enasalin, as we know, was Head Sentinel of Mythal's eastern temple. Abelas, at the behest of Enasalin, is willing to take the position of General." She clasped her hands tenderly before her, turning her attention to the council behind her. "Abelas, shall you speak for yourself or shall you appoint someone in your stead."

Abelas turned his attention to Zahirana, who was standing restlessly next to him. He tilted his chin downwards, softened his eyes. "Zahirana?"

Her brows jolted, realizing that everyone's attention had fallen upon her. Her lips stressed into a smile, a nervous laugh bubbling. "Oh. I... I will speak for him." She walked forward, conscious of each and every step, her fingernails digging at each other. She'd never spoken in front of so many people before, in front of so many eyes that saw her as more than just a common elf. They had given her an honorable name, Revanelan, one she hardly felt she deserved.

Atisha gave a bow of her head, stepping slightly back to give her the stage.

She closed her eyes, felt her stomach flutter with sickness. "Abelas has," she swallowed, glancing at him. He stood tall, expressionless and bold, a slight nod of his head. "Abelas believes himself incapable of leading us into the west." She swept her glances across the crowded clan, some still muttering worriedly amongst each other. "He thinks his emotions are clouding his judgement. And I disagree with him." She pressed her lips thin, peeking a quick look at him.

His brows were slowly drawing together, confused by her words. His lips parted, almost ready to mouth his questions at her.

She had promised to speak for him but not against him. "Abelas is more than capable. He has led us this far, has fought bravely against any trials that crossed our path." She looked at Enasalin, his hands tucked behind his back and a smirk on his lips.

He almost chuckled, thinking her clever in betraying Abelas. But he was wrong.

She forced her shoulders down and her chin a bit higher, ignoring the rising whispers. "However, Abelas has chosen to step down. He chose Enasalin to lead us. He chose to become our army's general. It is his choice not ours. Enasalin is more than capable of taking over, I don't doubt that. Why shouldn't we give them their choice?" She moved her attention to Atisha, a quick nod of her head.

Atisha stepped forward, placing a soft hand onto her back with a gentle, reassuring smile. "Enasalin? Shall you speak for yourself or shall another speak for you?"

Enasalin gave a bow of his head, voice deep and raspy, a chuckle on his tongue, "I believe Zahirana has spoken for both of us."

Atisha, sweet like honey, spoke, "My brothers and sisters, we take up our votes tonight at mealtime. Please consider this carefully."

Enasalin walked by, grinning and patting her upon the back as he headed towards a clan member.

Sarlen dropped an arm around her neck, muttering, "Harellan."

Dorian gave a little grin and eyed the Sentinel as he approached. "I believe you had poor little Abelas over here sweating rust onto his armor."

He gave a heavy sigh. "I was... worried, yes."

"I kept my promise." She shrugged a shoulder, narrowing her eyes childishly at him.

He returned the action before turning his head away to hide the beginnings of a smile. "Our clan appears to be growing. We will need twice the supplies than originally planned."

"Aravels." Sarlen was almost too excited to say the word. "It would solve most of your problems."

Suledin had been walking by and overheard Sarlen's enthusiasm. "Last I spoke with the Inquisitor, she said a Dalish clan was camped nearby a river, northwest of here."

Zahirana nearly melted at the word Dalish. She missed the clan, the traditions and the stories that she had loathed growing up. She missed the musty smell of halla, the ever watchful statues of the Creators, the smoky smell of roasting meat around the camp's fire.

"We should go." She placed her hand onto Abelas' arm, eyes pleading with him more than her words had. "We could barter for aravels. It would help us in our journey."

"I'll go with you," Sarlen quickly blurted, just as eager.

Abelas averted his gaze, no doubt keeping his features from giving away too many details about his thoughts. "It would do us no harm in seeking them out."

"Why not now?" Zahirana tugged his arm as she marched forward. "Let's go."

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me forever to write and post up here but I think I'm finally getting my Dragon Age muse back ^-^

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safise: Dracolisk  
> Alas'din'an: barren wasteland  
> Alas'ala: Desert  
> Andaran atish'an: Dalish greeting  
> Aneth ara: Dalish Greeting  
> Enansalen sul mar arla: Blessed to be here (reply to a greeting)  
> Enastesha: Graced (reply to a greeting)
> 
> A great deal of help from [Project Elvhen](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3553883/chapters/7825850)

She missed the sounds of the halla, their musk and sweat lingering across the campground, the creaks and groans of the aravel, and the harsh sound of the sail slapping against its masts. She could hear the Dalish talking in the distance, their language a familiar comfort but their accents foreign from her own clans.

Sarlen was the first to leap off of his mount, tying it to the closest tree with Suledin right behind him. He turned around with a large smile, motioning the rest of them to hurry up. Sarlen had always loved the sense of community that a clan provided. He thrived among people and socializing, energized by the rallying of others.

"You must speak for us," Abelas stated rather calmly as he tied their Harts to the trees.

"Who?" She ran her fingers through dusty fur of the elk before turning to him. "Me?"

"You would understand them better than any of us." He left their mounts and walked beside her towards the muffled sounds of camp. "Unless, you wish for Sarlen to speak for the entirety of the clan."

"I'm a hunter..." Sarlen spun on his heel, giving a quick flash of a toothy smile. "They'd never believe I was the Keeper."

Keeper or not, Zahirana wasn't sure Sarlen would have done so well. "You'd have requested batches of homebrew and have forgotten all about the aravels."

Sarlen grinned, knowing all too well that she was right. "I do love a good drink."

Suledin stepped before one of the statues on the very rim of the Dalish camp, eyes rolling across its surface and resting onto the gathering of objects. "Abelas," he muttered, his face crumpled a bit with either disgust or confusion. "What do you think this is?"

Abelas gave a discomforted groan.

Zahirana huffed, the sounds of a bitter laugh on her tongue. "It's a shrine for the Dread Wolf. Some clans provide an offering to Fen'Harel in order to appease him."

He darted his gaze to Abelas, a look of disbelief and uncertainty crossing his face. "Not much of a shrine, is it?"

"It is the best we can do." Zahirana groaned, moving up the path towards the gathering of aravels. "We don't have the luxury of enormous temples like you."

"Not much of an offering either," he added under his breath which drew an eye roll from her.

A hunter approached, her bow held loosely at her side, a few arrows clutched in her other hand. "Aneth ara, lethallin."

"Enastesha." Zahirana smiled to see the twists of Andruil's vallaslin, a larger and more detailed reflection of her own. "Inquisitor Lavellan told us of your clan. If I may, I wish to speak with your Keeper and pay my respects."

"Of course, lethallan. This way." She motioned towards camp with a wave of her arm. "We spoke with Lavellan a few days ago. Keeper Nerian respected her and I've no doubt he will welcome your presence here as well."

Zahirana let her attention sweep across the elf's gear and the various decorative ornament she wore. Her tunic and breeches were thin, nearly sheer enough to see her body beneath them. "Your attire is different than my own clan's..."

Her gaze looked over Zahirana's figure as well and the the glistening armor of Abelas, before replying casually, "We are a people of the desert." She nudged her chin towards the streak of tan on the horizon. "Keeper Nerian brought us here to gather a few supplies from the shemlen city. We lost some of our Safise to the demons."

"Safise?" She had to admit that she'd never encountered clans from the far west of Orlais. Then again, Keeper Athenaya kept the clan from many outsiders, rarely ever traveling away from the large, flourishing wilds.

She lifted her hand and pointed towards a section of camp behind a gathering of landships. "Your halla do not do well in the heat and sand."

"I want one," whispered Sarlen as he gripped a hold of his clanmate's shoulder.

Zahirana narrowed her eyes, bobbing her head until she could see vaguely their outline. Large, enormous lizards like wingless dragons gathered together into a clutch, hissing and lazily snapping at each other. "Those... They pull your aravels?"

She seemed to shrug a shoulder, stopping before an elder man who was finishing his conversation with another. She waited for the other to leave and the elder to turn and face her. "Keeper Nerian. These Dalish wished to have counsel with you."

Nerian let his eyes wander across each of the new faces before him then finally spoke softly, "Andaran atish'an. I am Nerian, Keeper of clan Rogelana." He also wore different attire, thin linens that draped loosely across his form, leather belts holstering innumerable daggers and pouches, bones and pendants hanging from just about every object he wore. Jewels littered his ears and one adorned his nose, his vallaslin trailed across every inch of his face, a joining of different symbols to the Creators.

"Enansalen sul mar arla." She tried to stand a bit taller, a bit prouder of herself and the people she spoke for. "My clan is not far from here and we hoped to seek your aid."

He eyed her wearily at first. "You are their Keeper?"

"Yes. Keeper Zahirana." It felt strange to say, even stranger to lie about it.

His smile was very mild, soft and almost nonexistent. "We rarely receive so many visitors in such a short amount of time. What help could I offer you?"

"Our clan," Zahirana spoke up but she struggled to form the words. She had missed the Dalish and a part of her wanted to explain the truth. But she reluctantly stuck to her lie. "Our aravels were lost to us after we were attacked by demons and later by slavers. Sadly, our craftsman died during the chaos and our apprentice knows so little about carving a proper aravel."

Nerian watched the others behind her, drawing her attention to them. Suledin had somehow found his way towards a campfire, joining a gathering of other hunters to converse with. Sarlen was missing and no doubt trying to climb his way onto one of the Safise. Abelas, expressionless but patient, stood behind her with his hands tucked loosely behind his back.

"Yes, we have seen your clan." Nerian motioned her to follow, taking a seat onto one of the stone benches near a shrine of Elgar'nan. "I sent my scouts to determine what you were. Without aravels you appeared to be an army." He flickered a glance to Abelas who remained standing. "Your armor still leaves us with questions. Lavellan, the Inquisitor, assured us you were allies. Although, her word to us, is the word of a stranger."

She took a seat across from him, her attention on the details of the statue and the littering of offerings. "Our clan has slowly become a... gathering of different people."

"City elves and slaves..." There seemed to be a hint of humor on his tongue. "A strange gathering for a clan, indeed. I am still uncertain, though, why many of your Dalish have the vallaslin of Mythal." He narrowed his eyes. "All of your Dalish, in fact, but a few."

Two, she wanted to correct him. Zahirana and Sarlen were the only true 'Dalish' in the whole group. "Our ways are different than most clans. Just as your ways may vary from others. Your vallaslin for instance."

He tilted his head as a soft smile began to form. "Send us your apprentice and we shall share what we know. We can only spare a single aravel at the moment..." He sat straighter, hands folded neatly into his lap. "You will have to understand that we have no halla here. They are no use to us."

She gave a quick nod, "Yes. I understand that you travel through the alas'din'an?"

He hummed his agreement. "What, if I may inquire, has brought you this far west?"

"Shemlen drove us from the wilds," she stated, mostly the truth, "and demons."

Nerian leaned forward, something flashing before his eyes that discomforted Abelas enough that the Elvhen stepped forward. The Keeper chuckled ever so slightly, his words darker and deeper than before, "You are young and very sweet and I shall offer you my wisdom. The alas'ala are a harsh place, far harsher than any shemlen could ever be. She is merciless and cruel. If you venture into her world, I advise you to join us or reconsider."

"Of course." Zahirana's back stiffened and watched as Nerian rose slowly to his feet. "I shall speak to my clan about the matter."

He gave a slight nod of his head, the gentleness in his expression returning easily. "You and your... 'clan' are welcomed here to join us should they so please." He walked away, his steps soft and barely causing a sound.

Once he was far enough, Zahirana whispered lowly to Abelas, "Was there anything else we should ask them?"

Abelas let his gaze sweep across the scattered landships and the strange elf customs. "It would be wise to join them. For a time. I am unfamiliar with the desert and I assume you are as well."

She gave a few meager nods, swallowing whatever words she wanted to speak when Nerian slowly approached them. He motioned a hand towards an area of the camp. "The aravel is this way. I'm certain you wish to tether your mounts to it."

"Ma serannas, hahren." Zahirana gave a bow of her head and rose to her feet.

Abelas placed a soft hand on the curve of her spine. "I can handle this matter if you will find Suledin and Sarlen."

Nerian gave a brief flinch of a smile before walking the path towards the aravel. Abelas followed cautiously behind him, never once taking his eyes off of the elf.

Zahirana strolled through the camp, noting the similarities and differences between the camp she recalled growing up in. Her childhood had been lively for the most part, the other Dalish filling the air with songs while they worked and stories retold continuously over the crackles of a fire. She had enjoyed the hunt most of all, providing everyone with the gift of their next meal.

She missed the aravels the most and the collection of items she had inside of it, a home all of her own. She'd never understood the Dalish bitterness about the lack of a place to call their own. Her aravel had been enough. The wilds had been enough. She wanted to explore every inch of it, every temple ruin and every grove.

Her eyes caught sight of the craftsman as he worked on carving out intricate designs of a bow. She strolled over towards the clattering sounds of a bone-chime, white and smooth bone glinting in the light of the sun. She remembered falling asleep to the sound of one as it hung down from the outer rafters of her aravel, right beside her head as she peeked out to gaze at the scattered stars above.

He lifted his gaze to her briefly before returning to his work. He spoke with disinterest, more focused on the task at hand that the stranger before him, "Andaran atish'an."

"That windchime... could I trade you for it?"

He scoffed, setting down his tools and glancing over his shoulder at it. "It's just a simple chime. A few bones thrown together, is all."

"I had one once." She lowered her eyes to her leathers, to her chainmail, and weapons. Zahiran returned her attention to him, ideas slowly coming to life. "My armor for your bone-chime."

His brows knitted together, taking another quick glance at the chime as if he were missing some hidden secret about it. "I don't think I understand but..." He gave a wave of his hand in agreement. "Very well."

She loosened her belts and pulled the leather tunic up over her head, folding it neatly onto the worktable. She began to peel away the heavy chainmail, slinking it down with her armor, before strapping her weapon belts back on. She returned her attention to the craftsman who held out the windchime, bones weaved together simply with coarse ropes.

"Zahirana." Abelas stepped beside her, a hand firm on her shoulder. "Is everything well?"

"Yes." She held up the chime, admiring its simplicity and its sentimentality. "I traded my armor for this chime."

"Your armor." He nearly hissed it, forcing her to face him completely. "You will need your armor for when we go into the desert."

She hugged the smooth, white bone against her chest, feeling its surface beneath her fingertips. "Abelas, I'm pregnant. I won't be able to wear my chainmail. Once I start swelling up, it won't fit me anymore."

He groaned, disapproving and yet... How could he argue with her?

"Pregnant? Hold on," muttered the craftsman and he began searching around his workspace. "Take this. Your leathers are worth more than a bunch of bones." He lifted into view a bundle of folded linens and held them out to her. "Simple clothes. There not much but they do us just fine. They'll do you well out there in the wastes."

Abelas hesitantly took them. He stared at them and then glanced to her stomach, before finally sighing. "Ma serannas." He hooked his arm around her waist and led her in the direction from which they came. "Sarlen and Suledin are already at the aravel waiting."

"I had one of these." She lifted the chime, looking over its details once more. "It used to hang above my bed. For as long as I can remember, it was there. I think maybe Keeper Athenaya gave it to me as a small child." Zahirana couldn't help but hug it close again.

"You gave away your armor..." Abelas looked sideways at her, a bit crossed but not entirely angry. "I suppose we'll hang it up in our tent."

She chuckled at the idea that it might annoy Abelas with its clattering all night. A seriousness gripped her as they were slowly reaching the others. "I don't enjoy giving up my armor, you know. But... realistically, I just won't be able to keep it."

Abelas held out an arm, stopping her mid-step. "When we reach our destination, you will require armor no longer. We will be safe. You will be safe."

She tried to soften her expression, to believe what he said. A part of her, however, doubted there was ever such a place. At least, not a place for an elf. Her people had searched for a home to call their own and never had they found one. The Dalish, even after the efforts of the Inquisitor, would never be seen as anything more than savages.

"I want a Safise," shouted Sarlen who could barely contain himself as he greeted them. "Did you see it? It was like a baby dragon. Hideous looking thing but..." He threw his hands up. "Baby dragon, da'assan."

Zahirana gave a nod of her head but she wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea. Dragons consumed meat and they breathed fire and... Well, she wasn't sure she could control one. The enormous Harts were unsettling enough on their own.

Suledin was already on the back of his buck, leading it towards the side of the aravel. "Let's hurry. I want to get to camp and come back here."

"What's got you in a hurry?" Zahirana climbed onto the front of the aravel with Sarlen, her mount was the one buckled to the front. Sarlen's was tied at the rear, supplies piled onto its saddle.

Suledin cleared his throat with a shrug of his shoulder. "Their hunters have... interesting stories."

Sarlen blurted, "He met a girl."

Abelas grumbled as he straddled his Hart and led it the front of their little convoy. "You can return once we know it is safe. There is a great distance between here and the clan."

Suledin narrowed his eyes. "I'm the head scout, Abelas. Going great distances... It's what I do." He chuckled a little, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the waiting elves. "Can we go now?"

Sarlen held the reins, slapping them lightly onto the Hart, with gentle words of encouragement. The grumbling elk moved forward, tugging at the heavy weight of the aravel, the wheels moaning and the wooden beams creaking its complaints.

Zahirana felt her heart race, a sudden sickness wash over her from head to toe, glistening her skin like a harsh fever. She felt the heat of bile hit the back of her throat as her stomach cramped and clenched. Slavers, she thought horrifyingly, remembering the hideous sound of the wagon and the marching of horse hoose, the way the chains clanked and clattered, the shuffles of dejected slaves.

The bone-chime slid onto the spot next to Sarlen's feet as she buckled over and scrambled out of the seat. She barely managed to jump down and kneel by the side of the path as her stomach's contents were heaved into the long grasses.

"Da'assan?" Sarlen pulled the reins back, the antlered beast snorting in protest.

Abelas was already on his feet, racing to her side, hesitantly settling his hands upon her.

She kept her head bowed, sobbing down a few breaths of air before settling her nerves again. "I'm alright. Really."

Abelas narrowed his eyes at her, showing her his plain disbelief before turning his attention to the others. "I will stay with her. The both of you head back to the others. Have Atisha waiting for us."

Sarlen looked like a kicked puppy, wide-eyed and worried.

"I'm fine. I'm sure I just ate something sour this morning." Zahirana tried to smile the way that Atisha always managed, a cheerful and sweet smile that encouraged everyone around her.

Sarlen didn't believe it but as Suledin slowly led his Hart down the path, he slapped the reins and the wagon started once more, a sickening chorus of unsettling noises. Once they were far enough, Zahirana rested back onto the dirt and wiped away the fine sheen of sweat from her forehead.

"Ma sa'lath."

She chuckled, knowing his expression without having need to look, but the laughter faded and all she felt was the nervous jitters left behind. "That sound... I had to listen to that sound for days with the fear that I might never see you again... that I might be a slave for life."

His expression hardened, brows falling flat over his eyes. "Listen to me, Zahirana. They are dead. Each of them died by my hand or yours." He took her head between his hands and tilted her head back, their eyes meeting. "You are safe."

"From slavers, perhaps." She fiddled her fingers, tugging her chin away from him.

He gave a sigh, lifting up onto his feet and helping her do the same. "Our clan is strong in numbers and in supplies. They would not stand by whilst something happened to us."

She gave a solemn nod, walking at his side towards the impatient elk. "I know." She blurted it again and again, hoping that eventually she'd know it and accept it. But the ride back towards the clan was long and quiet, only the stomping of hooves to fill the air.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only taken me months but I started playing DA:I again and I missed Abelas and really the entirety of the game itself...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma melava helani, asamalin: You have spent your time to help me, sister.  
> Sathem lasa helani: Pleased to be of assistance  
> Harellan: Traitor  
> Amelan: Keeper

The clan felt very much like home again, filled with stories and song, campfires just beginning to burn as dusk approached. It was late into the evening when Zahirana noticed that her brother had wandered off on his own, disappearing some time during the day. He posted himself on the apex of a hill overlooking the encampment like a forlorn gargoyle.

She sat down next to Sarlen, his form hunched over and his finger fiddling with the dirt. He hadn't said much since their return to camp and she took that as a troubling sign. Sarlen was always talking even if it was complete nonsense. He liked hearing himself talk, liked making snarky comments that made the others snicker. His silence was an illness, a darkness plaguing his thoughts.

"Lethallin," she whispered, pressing her shoulder against his.

He sighed, tilting his head as he burrowed his gaze into the grains of sand. "We will be leaving soon, I guess."

Zahirana crossed her legs and leaned her elbows into them. She peered over at his expression, examined the strain in his brow and mouth, the lids of his eyes hanging low. "Are you worried about something?"

He let his gaze sweep towards her then off to the sky. "Dorian... asked if I was going to stay with him or leave." He dropped his forehead into his hand, raked his fingers through his ruffled mass of hair.

Zahirana chuckled, tension melting away from her. "Is that what's been bothering you?"

He kicked his feet out, huffing and turning his head away.

"Stay with him, Sarlen. There's no need for me to drag you westward."

He snapped his gaze to her, pressing his mouth downward into a hard frown. "I can not just leave you, da'assan. We are family. We are..." He shook his head when he couldn't find the words.

Zahirana slapped a hand against his shoulder. "We will always be family. Stay with Dorian and should you change your mind... you can always join us later."

A slight smirk graced his lips. "He does make me happy..."

"And you deserve to be happy." Her eyes began to glisten with tears, the thought of losing someone so close to her. She turned her head away, looking out over the growing encampment. "I'll write to you when I can. You'll always know where we are."

Sarlen leaned against her, the small touch being comfort enough. “Ma melava helani, asamalin.”

Zahirana snorted to hear such words come from him, words that were so formal and personal. She shoved him and ruffled his hair. Her grin grew wild and childish. “Sathem lasa helani.”

“Harellan,” he snarled.

“Race you back to camp?” It was a question but she was already racing before he gave any reply. Her feet felt light, swift, like those of a deer and she reveled in the way the earth bounced beneath her will. The wind thickened through the tresses of her hair and burned across her cheekbones.

Abelas caught sight of their approach, brows flat with concern until he noticed her wild smile. The corner of his lip tugged only slightly before returning his attention to Enasalin as he spoke. He didn’t expect her grappling hug, the full brunt of her weight leaping into him but he managed to catch his balance quickly enough.

Enasalin snorted and gave a shake of his head in mild dismay. “The clan’s general has been so easily bested… I’m concerned.”

“Easily?” Abelas settled her down onto her feet but his arms around her tightened. “This is Zahirana, leader of Clan Revanelan, who has freed both elves and humans from their slavers.”

“Cheater,” rasped Sarlen as he slowly came to a halt.

Zahirana smirked, correcting him teasingly, “Clever more the like.”

“Enasalin!” One of the scouts raced forward, weaving through tents with reckless abandon. “Inquisitor Lavellan is on horseback, coming this way. It looks urgent.”

No sooner did the small group focus their attention on him and stepped towards the edge of camp did the horses arrive. Lavellan and Dorian both leapt from their mounts and trudged forward, breathless and shaky.

“Kadan,” Dorian muttered it, eyes focused on Sarlen alone.

“What is it?” He tilted his head, attention darting between his beloved and the stony face of the Inquisitor. “What’s happened?”

“You must leave the area,” Lavellan stated firmly, head rising when she watched the entirety of the camp sweep their worried glances between her and their leaders. “Word has reached noble ears about your encampment. They see you as an army, a threat.” She stepped forward and glowered pleadingly at Abelas. “An Orlesian force is headed this way.”

“Revanelan,” someone blurted from behind her, a young elf with wide eyes. The rest of the gathered clan looked to her, even some of the Elvhen were looking at her for answers.

“We can’t fight an army,” another cried, panic washing over the city elves and former slaves. All of them were starring desperately at her for answers. “What should we do, Revanelan?”

Zahirana steadied herself, remembering that their strength depended upon her. She settled her gaze on the Inquisitor. “When will they arrive?”

“Two days at most.” She too steadied herself, pushed away her anxiety. “I can stall them for a time but it is best that you are long gone before then.”

“Then we leave.” She gave a firm nod before looking out over the anticipating crowd. “We head west with the Dalish. We will learn from them. And then we will leave them and head north to sanctuary. Abelas.” She focused on him, on the calmness of his facade and mirrored it as best she could. “How quickly can your people pack up camp?”

“Before dawn.” He stepped back, eyes lingering on her in a silent nudge of encouragement before turning sharply on his heel to begin the tedious task of organizing the soldiers.

She glanced about, settling on Enasalin. “Has anyone seen Suledin?”

Sarlen, voice wavering, a knot tightening in his throat, “He went to see the Dalish hours ago. He’s probably still there… Da’assan.”

Zahirana smiled when she saw his brows bend beneath worry and fear. She took his head into her hands, stared into the eyes of her brother, the same brother who had always protected her. “Go with Dorian. We’ll be fine.”

Sarlen shook his head and she knew he’d never leave unless she forced him.

Zahirana glowered at him, put all of her courage behind it. “Go, Sarlen. There’s no reason for you to stay. If I need you, I’ll send word.”

“Take this raven.” Lavellan turned to the saddle of her horse and lifted a small bird cage from it. “Send us word the moment you are safe.”

The edges of Sarlen’s mouth tugged downwards and if it hadn’t been for Dorian’s hand in his, he wouldn’t have been able to turn away from her. Dorian quickly mounted the horse, desperately watching as Sarlen hesitated. But he turned from her all the same and climbed onto the space behind the Mage.

Zahirana breathlessly blurted, “Sule sal harthir.”

Sarlen looked back at her, the horse darting off as he retorted wholeheartedly, “Sule tael tasalal.”

The last of her old clan was gone from her now, her brother and clan mate, her closest friend. He would be safer with Dorian, she knew that much. Her lips quivered, desperate to frown but she fought against it. She guarded her expression as best she could. She focused on Enasalin instead, ordering firmly, “Send scouts ahead to the Dalish. Inform Suledin that the Orlesians are sending an army.”

Enasalin gave a firm nod of his head in agreement. “I shall send the elderly and the youngest with them. It is best they leave now or slow us down later.”

Zahirana darted a quick glance at the clan, noting that they were busying themselves with the chilling task ahead. “I shall help Atisha with whatever wounded we might still have. Inform me the moment everyone is ready to move.”

He smirked, eyes unwavering from her. “You are more their leader than you realize.”

She wavered, heart jolting sickeningly. She wasn’t ready to be a leader. She had never been ready to lead. She had gotten her old clan killed, most of them and those that still lived would tell tales of her childish ignorance. She wasn’t certain she could handle behind their leader.

She kept her head down, bulldozing her way through the chaos of the campground, her shoulders stiff and her steps fierce. She found Atisha easily. The healer was smearing the last of the wounded, saying her farewells before turning to pack up her things.

“Atisha.” Zahirana slunk into the tent, eager to busy herself with something. “What would you have me do?”

She peered over at the young elf, something in her voice must have startled her. “Is something the matter, lethallan?”

Zahirana spat back bitterly, hardly realizing how angry she sounded, “An Orelsian army is headed this way and I’m not--”

She rushed forward, her hands gently grabbing hold of Zahirana’s elbows until the younger elf looked at her. But their eyes only met briefly and Atisha knew then that there was something more bothering her. “Talk to me.”

She whispered it almost as if she were ashamed, “They call me Revanelan.” Her heart jolted, sickness layering her skin in sweat as she remembered the charred bodies of her clan members and they looked so very much like the dead slavers. “They say it like I’m their savior. They looked to me, Atisha. Why didn’t they turn to Abelas? Why didn’t they turn to Enasalin?”

Atisha gripped her arm, squeezed it like a tender mother. “They have faith in you. Why can’t you have the same?”

Zahirana pulled away from her but she sighed in resignation. “I’ve killed so many people…”

“So have we all,” she stated calmly as if murder were a normal thing.

She peered up at her, words nearly inaudible, “What if I fail them?”

Atisha asked seriously, curl on her lips, “What if you do? What if you fail them? Will you give up so easily? Will you hand them over so easily to the Orlesian army?”

“No… I’ll hand them to Abelas. To Enasalin.”

Atisha laughed, a sweet sound that soothed away all of Zahirana’s anxiety. “Both have failed before. It is merely a hazard of being a leader. The best leaders, however, choose to keep going. Not because they won’t fail again. But because if they don’t, the people will suffer worse.”

“Atisha…” She batted her eyes, hoping to keep back any tears that might threaten.

“Come. Help me break down this tent.” She turned away from her, giving her both a task to keep them busy as well as a small amount of privacy for regathering her thoughts. “The sooner we reach the desert, the further we will be away from our enemies.”

Zahirana clenched her hands in an attempt to push aside her fears. She focused her thoughts on what needed to be done rather than dwell on her plaguing fears. “The desert… how do we know we can trust Fen’Harel? How do we know there’s sanctuary there?”

“What makes you believe he’s untrustworthy?” Atisha continued pulling up the tent, motioning her to do the same.

Zahirana shifted her weight between her feet. “The Dalish tell stories of the Dread Wolf’s betrayal. That he tricked the Creators as well as the Forgotten Ones.”

She stepped away from the task when she realized the elf wouldn’t provide assistance until she got her answers. “Is it possible those stories changed throughout the years. Is it possible that the Dalish tell the story differently with each generation it is told?”

“Then tell me. What’s the truth?”

Atisha looked somber, her eyes slipping closed as she searched for the right words. “A truth none of us are ready to hear. Now please, lethallan. Let us discuss it another day, a day when we are safer.”

She didn’t want to wait. She felt as if she waited her entire life to hear the truth of it. She spent all of her years traveling through the wilds, exploring temples, dreaming of ancient history long forgotten. But she gave a nod in agreement all the same. She set aside her impatience and helped Atisha breakdown the medical tent.

~:~

They arrived just as the Dalish were packing their aravels, the snapping lizards impatiently waiting to return to the sands of the desert. She leapt from her hart, Abelas following suit as they approached the dismantling camp. The rest of her clan was too busy looking over their shoulders, too busy helping the Dalish gather the last of their things.

“Stay strong,” whispered Abelas, his hand fitting into the curve of her lower back. “You speak for us all.”

“Keeper Zahirana.” Nerian approached, the glint of gold ever so slightly sparking against the torches that were scattered about the clan. His white vallaslin contrasted sharply against his dark complexion along with the bright hues of his robes. “Your scouts arrived earlier to warn us of the danger.”

Zahirana made sure her chin remained high, fighting against the need to submit beneath Nerian’s hard stare. “Will our joining you in the desert be a problem?”

The edge of his mouth only barely twitched with a smile. “Not at all. Whatever your reasons are for joining us, they do not concern me. You must understand, however, that a land of heat and sun is hardly kind to the weak.”

“Then I suppose it is best for all of us to not be weak.”

“Indeed.” He rested his palm onto the jeweled hilt of the dagger at his waist. He wasn’t preparing to attack, just simply resting it there out of habit. “Then we welcome you Clan…” His brows pinched when he realized he didn’t even know the name of your clan.

“Revanelan,” she blurted, allowing it to roll freely from her tongue.

“Clan Revanelan.” He gave a slow nod of his head, eyes slipping closed ominously as if he understood fully the meaning of the clan’s name and the truth behind Zahirana’s mask of words. “Prepare your people for the intense cold, amelan. We walk the desert at night to avoid the sun’s heat.”

“We have skins left over from our journey through the mountains. We are prepared for whatever is thrown at us.” Her back felt stiff, knotted with tension. She hoped her people were ready. The Elvhen might survive heartily but the City Elves and the former slaves… They were not quite used to survive nature’s brutality.

“Then we walk gladly with you, clan Revanelan. May the winds be in our favor.” He stepped away from her and strolled through the last remnants of his people’s campsite. Most of them were already moving towards the desert.

Enasalin approached, his gaze locked on the leaving stranger, sizing up a possible enemy. “Atisha has the oldest and weakest gathered in the aravel provided to us. We should be able to keep in time with them.”

Zahirana glanced at him, hardly realizing that Enasalin was reporting to her of all people. Her brows jolted but she quickly took control over her expression. “Should we have Suledin and his scouts at the front? Watching for dangers?” She looked between Abelas and Enasalin, eager to refer to their judgement.

Abelas tilted his head away, voice lowered in case of prying ears. “I’d prefer as much. I want our soldiers near the rear to keep an eye on Nerian and his people. They will guard our backs.”

“We’ve no reason to distrust them,” muttered Zahirana.

“Oh? What can you tell me of this clan other than they are… Dalish?” His lips thinned, the mere uttering of the word having left an awkward taste in his mouth. “Can you say they are trustworthy? Have they shown in some way they are our allies?”

“They provided us with an aravel. To a Dalish, an aravel is the greatest of gifts to give or receive. They’re prized among clans.” She gave a sigh of resignation, shoulders slumping after having been tense for so longer. “I want to trust them. Until we’ve a reason not to… we should trust them.”

Abelas’ expression softened, perhaps realizing the bitterness in his words. “Trust them then. But as your general, I will be wary of all possible enemies.”

“My general…” She darted her attention to Enasalin.

The older elf smirked, brow raised. “You are our Keeper, are you not?”

Her lips parted, wanting to argue but she couldn’t find the words.

Suledin grinned widely, sneaking around Enasalin with childish delight as he hooked his arm around the taller man. “Are the three of you coming with us or…”

Abelas gave a slight grumble. “To the forefront, Suledin. Scout ahead for all of us. Report back any dangers.”

“Yes, yes.” He tossed a hand at him, a youth waving off his elder. “I know what to do.”

“Suledin.” Abelas snatched up his arm before he could walk away. His words weren’t as harsh as expected. He seemed to speak like an older brother, mentoring rather than lecturing. “We are not familiar with the desert. Be especially… on alert.”

The young elf was stunned for a moment, staring blankly as he processed, before slowly beginning to smile. “I’ll have the scouts pair up and cast a wider net, extend our reach further than usual.”

Abelas only gave a firm nod in reply and watched him waltz through the crowded clan.

“The boy idolizes you.” Enasalin smirked, arms folding lightly as he casually shuffled away. “I think you may have brightened the entirety of his life.”

Abelas let his gaze sweep across her expression before returning to his hart. She wasn’t sure what he saw there. Layers of anxiety and fear, she was certain. But she hoped, that despite all of the events they had gone through, the worst of it was behind them. She knew without doubt the desert would test them but so had the snow, the cave, the mountains, the slavers… They would endure.


	25. Chapter 25

They traveled at night, following stars just as her clan did but it was different in the desert. There were no landmarks, scattered monoliths of stone and dried shrubs that hadn’t tasted a drop of water in nearly a year. The cold of the dessert was brutal but it was hard to compare to the intensity of the sun, the shadows of tents and aravels doing little to help.

Unlike her clan, their aravels weren’t used for sleeping in or even for holding personal belongings. They carried supplies, tents and weapons, water and food. Anything they held personal was carried on their bodies, jewels that glittered on their skin or pieces of bones that pierced their ears. To Zahirana they were so different from her own clan it was easy to forget they were Dalish at all.

They spoke less than her clan, told fewer stories about the Creators, never truly had any symbols to represent them besides their vallaslin. Even the blood writing was different, created with blood and a strange metallic substance to lighten the ink against their dark skin. At night, she swore she could see the markings emit a soft glow.

But despite their differences, the elves were generous within the month they were together. They shared their meals and the secrets of the desert. They taught them to navigate and to read the subtle changes in the night sky.

The Dalish were reluctant to accept them at first, weary of outsiders for valid reasons. It was rare enough for clans to gather together let alone travel as a single group of people. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. She saw the closed mindedness of Nerian the first moment they met. She recognized his suspicion especially when he mentioned his scouts’ report of them. An army, he had called them.

And they were an army, that couldn’t be questioned. They were also simply people trying to live their lives, to find a reason to live. It was that common ground, the goal to survive the desert, that kept the two groups from fighting. Rarely did a Dalish sit at the campfire with an Elvhen, especially not the human ex-slaves.

If it wasn’t for Suledin’s probing questions or eagerness to learn about them, few of the Elvhen would have even associated themselves with the Dalish. Zahirana herself went out of her way to speak with the elves, to learn their customs, to eat their food, to join their hunters. Abelas was always at her side, a bodyguard rather than an eager learner. He paid more attention to body language than the lessons being taught.

The most difficult part about the entirety of the journey was sleeping. The sun beamed brightly against the thick cloth of the tent, somehow filtering through furs and fibers. And it didn’t help at all that she was pregnant. Zahirana spent most of the night switching positions, between grappling Abelas with her aching knees or throwing her legs over a pile of leathers and furs.

The unsettling silence, the lack of wildlife in the desert, didn’t help with sleep either. Every now and then an august ram would wander near the tents but they would easily be spooked by whoever was standing watch. And then there was the sound of the various grazing mounts, grunts and hisses off in the distance.

Zahirana pressed her face into Abelas’s arm, disliking how warm he was but delighting in the scent that lingered on his skin. He was a comfort in a foreign place, a home she could always return to. That small moment helped her forget the clan’s problems as well as the mild distrust that lingered between the people.

“We will need to head north soon,” he whispered it, knowing she was already awake, his eyes burrowing into the tent’s ceiling. “We have learned what we can from the Dalish.”

Her voice was soft, a small attempt at being secretive, the tent walls thin enough for others to hear them, “You still haven’t told me where we’re going or why. All you’ve said was that it would be a sanctuary.”

“Fen’Harel assured us that there are other Elvhen. It is a place that hasn’t been breached. It will be safe there.”

“What if…” She swallowed her quickening pulse. “What if it isn’t there? What if there isn’t any sanctuary. We should stay with the Dalish. At least we know we can survive--”

“I do not understand your reluctance.” His tone was even so she knew he wasn’t upset with her, but he also wasn’t very pleased either. “We should not stay with these elves any longer than we must.”

Zahirana peered up at him, glowering at how complacent his expression was. “Those elves are good people.”

His eyes were steady on hers, the slight flattening of his browline. “I don’t trust them.”

“And you trust Fen’Harel? Our legends call him a trickster, a liar.”

“Your legends are wrong. We have discussed that.” He took down a sharp breath, releasing it as calmly as he could. He waited a few breaths until he knew his voice was even, “The people you call Creators were nothing more than Mages. They were worshipped and revered but they were not Gods. Not in the sense that you consider them to be.”

She pushed her lips to the side, mulling over his words. “Our gods were just arrogant nobles then.”

“People went to them for help whether it was justice or a court ruling. In return for their services, they often asked for the person’s binding loyalty. They were nobles who ruled over their slaves. Nothing more.”

“You said that you were Mythal’s slave…”

“It was an honor bestowed upon the most loyal. At the time, it was the only life that we knew. Most of us had considered it simply a part of existing. A slave thinks little of freedom because they barely understand its existence. Just as you barely understand the existence of a world beyond a mirror.”

“A mirror,” she muttered with half-consideration. “Fen’Harel. Was he one of those nobles then?”

“Yes but he… led a rebellion. He freed the slaves. He removed their vallaslin. He taught them that their revered gods could fall.”

Zahirana swept her eyes away from him, unable to bear the telling of his story. “This entire time, after all these years… The Dalish have been wrong. Keeper Athenaya used to hound me about being responsible, shoving books and tomes into my arms. It was a Keeper’s place to remember. She has no idea that it’s all wrong…” Zahirana sat up sharply, uneasy at the realization. “I have to tell them. I have to tell all of them. They need to know the truth.”

“They would not understand the truth, ma’salath.”

“I have to at least try…” Her words softened, fading from her tongue as she spoke them. She remembered how sad she had been when she first learned. Could she really take her people’s last remaining sense of self, their culture, their identity? Was it her place to decide?

“After the vir’abelasan was… defiled, we left the temple in search of other Elvhen. Fen’Harel came to us, briefly, and he explained the truth behind your Creators. He provided us with the proof that we required but… It was difficult to accept. All we knew was Mythal. Serving her had been our only purpose for so long that Fen’Harel’s words seemed… hollow.” Abelas understood her reluctance. He knew how heavy a burden like that could be. “Perhaps speak to their… Keeper. Let him decide.”

She gave him a weak smile, a nod of her head. Zahirana placed a soft kiss onto his cheek. Her lips delighted in the heat there before she got to her knees, awkward with the growing roundness of her belly. “I’m going to take a short walk around camp. I want to make sure things are good before we start moving again.”

He helped her to her feet, fingers barely brushing across her firm stomach. “I’ll check with Enasalin.” Abelas followed her out of the tent, his eyes narrowing as the harsh bite of sunlight hit them. “I’ll meet with you for lunch?”

“Same place as always,” she teased, “Next to that one sand dune.”

One corner of his mouth manage to pull into a smirk. He headed into camp, passing the returning scouts from their night watch. Zahirana looked about the blindingly bright dunes, the pale tents bleached by the sun, the frayed and tattered skins that flapped in the dry winds. She closed her eyes but the light managed to pierce even through her lids.

She trudged through camp, grateful for the slight breeze that ruffled her loose fitting attire. “Atisha.” She stepped into the large, open medical tent, her eyes sweeping over the unusual mass of people. It was the most she had seen in the tent since joining the Elvhen.

“Zahirana.”

“What’s happening…”

Atisha, despite her gentle words, looked stressed. The corners of her expression were hardened by tension, a hard pressed grimace. “More and more people come to me with symptoms of dehydration.”

“Dehydration?” Her brows pinched. “I don’t understand. Is it just our people?”

“The amount of water rationed isn’t enough.” Atisha sighed, the palm of her hand pressed into her forehead and even she was starting to look like her paling patients. “The Dalish seem to have developed a tolerance towards the desert heat. They drink half as much as we do. The Elvhen seem to be holding up well but...”

Zahirana gave a resigned sigh, fingers rubbing the tension from the muscles in her neck. “I will go and speak to Nerian. I’ll explain to him what’s happening.” She quickly reached out to the healer, squeezing her shoulder. “Until I get back, you need to sit down and rest. We can’t lose our best.”

Atisha gave a breathy huff, waving her hand as if to brush aside the suggestion. “I will be alright. Today’s just been busier than usual.” Despite her words, she didn’t look at all healthy.

“Atisha,” she stated it, an order that came off her tongue quicker than she expected. “If I have to, I will have Addie keep you bed ridden.” Zahirana looked across the tent at the human just as she was looking up.

“Been waiting to be in charge my whole life.” Addie grinned as she got her feet, wiping her hands onto her dusty pants. “I’d be more than happy to.”

Atisha rolled her eyes. “Oh very well. I shall take it easy…” She shook her head as if she were ashamed. “I never thought you would turn your power against me, lethallan.”

Zahirana chuckled. She spun out of the tent, her head down in hopes to keep some of the sun out of her eyes. She swore they stung more every day. She batted her lids, peering past the blinding light to take in the blurry shapes of tents and aravels. She just barely made out the features of everyone she passed. Most gave her a respectful nod, a few of the Dalish even nodding at in her acknowledgement.

“Keeper Nerian.” She approached him, more confident than she would have been a few weeks ago. She had grown familiar with him, used to his standoffish demeanor. “I needed to speak with you about some issues our healer has come across.”

Nerian waved her over, his other hand reached out towards a tent.

“She’s found that quite a few of our people are suffering from dehydration.”

“Yes, a matter we can discuss after we handle this.” He pulled open the tent’s flap and allowed her to step inside. “We found one of your people stealing water from the aravel. He drank at least five rations worth.”

Zahirana’s eyes took him in, remembering that he was one of the human ex-slaves. He had been chained with her but he had never truly spoken to her before. She couldn’t place his name or really anything about him. But he had followed her, he had joined her in the senseless venture into the desert. And now here he was chained up again, looking just as broken down as before.

Nerian let the tent door seal out the rest of camp. He flicked his hand at the guard posted inside and the elf stepped back from the prisoner. “I thought it best for you to handle punish for your kin as you would perhaps do with mine.”

“Punishment?” Her fierce glare jolted to Nerian, suddenly riled with anger. “He stole water because he was thirsty.”

“It makes him a thief.”

“It makes him desperate. Our people are becoming sick, dehydrated.”

Nerian stiffened. His spine grew straight as he strangled his hands behind his back. “Those are the risks of the desert. If food supplies were low, people would be expected to eat less.”

“It’s a desert.” Zahirana never let herself waver, her gaze just as sharp as his. “Water supplies will always be low.”

“I warned you the desert was harsh.” His gaze landed on the human, corners of his mouth twisting into a grimace. “You should have better warned your clan. If you do not punish him then I shall have to do it myself.”

Her hands clenched, fingernails buried into her palms. “No, you won’t.”

He turned his heated glare to her, expecting her to flinch but she didn’t.

“My clan and I will be on our way. We have stayed longer than we should have. And I will be taking my people, all of my people, with me.”

Nerian stepped forward, his eyes steady with hers. It was a silent challenge. He was hoping that she’d back down but when he saw her unwavering stance, he gave a slow and stern nod. “Nightfall. Your people need to be past the horizon.”

“No.” Zahirana thinned her lips. She spoke as steady as she could, “We won’t leave until after nightfall. Until then, you can deal with us a day longer.”

A breathy huff jolted from his lungs, the minor makings of a smirk. “You make a fine Keeper. But when their thirst grows…” He peered over at the prisoner, head tilting away. “They will bring chaos.” He stepped back, motioning his guard to follow him out of the tent.

She released the breath she’d been holding, dropping down to her knees and untying the ropes from the prisoner’s wrists.

“Thank you, Revanelan. Thank you. Forgive me. If I--”

Zahirana raised a palm, silencing his pleas. “Go and see Atisha. Make sure you're well and then help with packing camp.” She grabbed his arm just as he was getting his to knees, her gaze holding more fear than she liked. “Stay away from the Dalish for now.”

He nodded fiercely. “Yes. Yes, of course.” He scurried to his feet, leaping out of the tent before she even stood up.

Her whole body sighed, palms resting against the unbearable heat in her stomach. She would have to gather the council together, to give them the unfortunate news. Abelas would be pleased but she couldn’t be certain how the others would handle matters. And then there was the matter with supplies.

She found Suledin close by, chatting with a few of the Dalish about a future hunting party. Not a word passed her lips when Abelas came trudging forward, snapping up her hand. He blurted shakily, “Someone told me you were arguing with Nerian.”

Zahirana chuckled. She wasn’t at all surprised Abelas had been keeping tabs on her. Ever the bodyguard that he was. “Suledin can you find Enasalin and have him meet us at Atisha’s?”

The scout gave a single nod of his head and sauntered through the sand, his steps having become used to the soft earth.

“What happened?” His arm curled around her waist, guiding her away from the eyes and ears of the Dalish in the area. “If he hurt you--”

“Abelas.” She peered over at him. “Nerian wanted us to punish a man who stole water. I refused. Atisha told me just moments ago that our people are beginning to suffer dehydration.”

His steps slowed, a quick glance around, as he mulled over her words. “Did you demand more water of him?”

Zahirana took down a deep breath before sighing. “I probably should have but… I told Nerian we were leaving.” She bowed her head, fingers pressing into her burning eyes. “If we leave, we’ll lose our supply of water, won’t we? I should have thought more but I was so angry.”

Abelas chuckled under his breath, a sound so soft most wouldn’t have heard it. He pressed his lips to her forehead, easing them there to rest. “If you were angry then I am certain you had every right. Enasalin and I shall handle the negotiations. You should go and rest with Atisha.”

She smirked, teasing him eagerly, “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

He tilted his head, nose brushing against hers before his lips caressed gently over her smile. “You need rest and we need our Keeper strong.”

“You’re right…” Her eyes slipped closed, more tired than anything. “I’ll be with Atisha. When you’re done--”

“Yes, I know. I will find you.” His mouth finally settled on hers, a sweet and chaste kiss, one that last too short for her liking. His palm cupped her cheek and he didn’t leave until his eyes met hers for one final time.


End file.
